Love after Death
by 5ummerbreeze
Summary: *Read page 1 for more description* Marivel, a beautiful night elf priestess, was killed because of the plague of undeath. After awakening, she surrounded herself with hate. But when an undead rogue begins to melt her heart, her world unravels.
1. Dawning

_Greetings and Thank You for looking into this story. I wrote this randomly to tell the tale of my main character on World of Warcraft, Marivel _(Hyjal Server_), and how she became an undead. This takes place during the Burning Crusade expansion pack. Rated **Mature for graphic violence and probable adult scenes** in the later chapters. This IS ultimately **a love story between Marivel, a Night Elf turned undead **_(think Sylvanas)_**, and Theridan, a High-elf turned undead.** This is a rough story, not polished by any stretch of the imagination! Hope you like it!_

_**UPDATE: (10/19/10) Chapter 18 is finally written! Only took me a year and a half . Fail on my part! Life has been crazy. **(5/06/09) I rewrote chapters 14-17 and added nearly a full chapter of writing between them all. Currently Editing and intend to publish sometime this week. I moved recently and don't have the internet at my new apartment yet so... we'll see. Thank God for Libraries. (1/20) I fail at updating. But I pushed out three chapters at once since I can assume, for the few people reading this, it sucks to only be able to read a couple pages at once. Still feeling uneasy about the story line and since my normal editor is off in Basic Training (I miss him!), I have no clue how it looks to anyone on the outside.(12/23) Has it really been so long since I last updated? Sheesh! I have one chapter finished, and im working on the next. I am hoping to post a few chapters at once. We'll see. I'm on vacation right now for the holidays so who knows when this'll happen! Sorry I'm a procrastinator :p I blame the Xpac! (09/12) Edited Chapter 6 (Marivel's "end") to allign it more with actual lore. (09/10) I'll try to be a little more... quick with the next chapter. (08/18) Life has been very difficult recently... I just started on Chapter 13. I'm suddenly not liking the story line, but I'll still write it. Sorry if it sucks. (07/08)I'm going over the first few chapters and fixing things. Might be a few days until I finish Chapter 12. (07/02) Chapter 11 is up. I was and still am very iffy on how it turned out though. Soon as I actually get some sleep, I'll get to working on chapter 12. Thank you guys for all the awesome reviews! (07/01) Been feeling really out of it and sleepy. Going to try and get some writing done today though. (06/24) Added Chapter names. When YoMuM replied to the chapters, I found I couldn't remember what happened in them by just a number which gave me the incentive to actually name the chapters (Which I've been meaning to do for a while) Thanks! _

* * *

A soft scent floated through the air, permeating it with the intoxicating fagrance of gentleness. It cut cleanly through the tense peace that had come to be the normal feel in the N'aaru city. As it floated to the back of the inn that sat upon Scryer Tier, it pulled a seemingly young priestess out of a sorry excuse for sleep. Her eyes did not open as she was tugged away from tearful dreams and nothing but a slight quickening of her breath signaled her mind had begun to race. She lay still on the Blood Elfin styled beds for a few more seconds, slowly realizing that the horrors she'd been witnessing moments earlier were simply a dream. With a small sigh she sat up, rubbing the back of her neck absently.

She did not have to look to know what she was smelling. For the first several decades of her life, the only air she had ever known carried this specific scent. Her eyes still closed, she could hazily see the beautiful towers, crystal clear pools, and fragrant flowered gardens of Darnassus. It had been so long since she had seen it with her eyes.

Sure enough, as her eyes edged open they fell upon a beautiful Night Elf woman chatting away with the Blood Elf inn keeper. The priestess sat still and watched her carefully for some time. The incense's wonderful fragrance was strong and still hung thickly around her. She must have only been in the city moments before and used a binding stone to come to this forsaken world.

The priestess felt a twinge of jealousy for her living counterpart. Anger surged through her cold, dead heart as her eyes narrowed. No doubt that the elf took the blessing of being allowed to travel into the city freely completely for granted.

After another minute, she pulled her thoughts and eyes away to look down to her back pack. She took out her time piece, a reward from a goblin whom she had returned some crazy gadgets to months before. It was still an hour before she normally awoke, but it was never too early to start her day. As her body began to rouse sleeping limbs, she subconsciously glanced around. Her eyes gazed across all different races and types of fighters and healers and even merchants on the beds of the inn, sound asleep. Somewhere to her left, one of them was making such a horrible racket snoring that she couldn't imagine having slept through it. As her eyes took in the Human and the Draenei who slept on either side of her, any want her body or mind had in it to sleep more was quickly dispelled. She frowned in disgust.

Roughly grabbing her bag and swinging it over her left shoulder, she stood up and briskly walked out. She didn't have to be a trained hunter to notice how the Night Elf quieted herself as she walked past nor how she instinctively moved closer to the table to give a wide berth. The newly awoken lady thought little of it. She was used to the strange looks, the spits of disgust, the horrified stares, and the parents hiding their children away, but she no longer cared. Like any of those once living and turned undead, she had learned long ago how to cool her heart to these things; you would grow mad with grief if you didn't.

Clearing the threshold, she was glad to find the sun had yet to rise. Very few vendors and merchants out and thus almost no people. She let out a breath that she was holding with a sigh, her tense body relaxing. A beautiful pink and purple sky was beginning to creep over the towers of Shattrath and the forest that surrounded it on the East. Turning to her left, she began to walk towards the lift that would take her down to the Terrace of Light and from there continue her walk to the Lower City Stables.

A fairly strong breeze passed her as she glided silently along the terrace. The light that shown from her eyes, which used to be called beautiful, were set upon a perfectly formed banshee body and glinted off the surface of a fountain. The arcane magic that powered the fountain caressed her senses softly, a slight yearning rising within her for more. Though she was not to be mistaken with the arcane hungry blood elves, there was a friendly yet icy feeling from the shadow and holy magic coursing through her body that she loved. Magic was one rare thing that didn't care whether you were undead or living, elf or human, good or evil, and she cherished its lack of prejudice.

The empty lift rose to a stop against the terrace with a nearly nonexistent shudder and the priestess stepped aboard. Moments later, the automated platform began to descend. Smoothly, it came standstill at the bottom where its lone occupant stepped off. She walked past the bank, where another undead stood rummaging like an animal through his deposit box. He glanced up feraly at the small disturbance she created on the ground where she walked. His eyes narrowed slightly showing his disgust. Banshees, such as the priest strolling past him, were fairly rare. Most of the Elves that were unlucky enough to have been touched by the same undeath that had reanimated his own rotten flesh turned into ghastly beings with small variant of their former selves. But some, no one knew exactly why, ended up like the Forest Trolls of the Plague lands, Deathknights, or, more famously, like Sylvanas Windrunner, the former High Elf Ranger-General of Silvermoon City; they looked identical to their former living selves except for certain eye, skin, and hair discolorations.

What bothered him was that most banshees of the Horde were dead High Elves. This woman looked exactly like one of the enemy, like an Alliance Night Elf. The only differences were her eyes were glowing yellow instead of the white-blue that a living Night Elf's should have been, her skin was white and nearly translucent as opposed to the dark purple it probably once was, and she walked with the body language of one whose blood ran with the cold anger and hate that plagued all the undead- one who surrounded their heart with ice. Otherwise, she looked just like a Night Elf: her flesh was still perfectly formed, her hair hung soft and long.

Her appearance caught her many looks like this one. She was rejected by both the living and the dead, but she had learned to accept this. She was better off in this line of work without many attachments.

Her boots padded on the ground stealthily as she walked down the ramp into the Lower City. She turned left at the bottom where the stone of the terrace met the soft grass of Lower City. She passed and gave a small nod to those who sought out more Horde warriors, whom she considered herself loosely allied with, to join the endless fight against the Alliance for territories, resources, and ancestral claims. The shops and stands to her right were already beginning to open up, expecting crowds to be bustling within a few hours. She was glad to leave now. She didn't want to deal with any more today than she already had.

After a few minutes of walking, she walked into the large stables built into the north eastern wall of the city. As she entered through a Draenei style archway, the smell of some twenty different creatures greeted her. The stable was made of one long strip of stalls with three more branching off beyond the city walls, under the ground that Lower City was dug into. Making her way to the middle branch-off where the largest stalls were built, she stopped at the seventh set. Unlatching the door her gaze met that of a shimmering Dragon whose nether energies had been forged into its genetics long before it had hatched from its egg. He lifted his head and yawned as she opened the door. Stretching, he stood up from the hay he had been sleeping on. This dragon, just as its priest, was a rare breed. While most nether drakes were of the Black dragon flight, this particular one was a son of Alexstrasza; a red nether drake.

* * *

The meeting of the Priestess and the drake was a pure and amazing coincidence. Though raised to become a great priestess sworn to the absolute and selfless service of her people, she now used her magic for what she decided to be right and correct. For this reason, though abnormal for a priest of her stature, she often took up assassination and extermination tasks for her own benefit or if the cause was worthy. Upon a trek into some mountains which had thousands of natural rock spires giving them the name "Blade's Edge Mountains," she accepted such a task to trap the spirits of hostile nether drakes with a shaman's totem. The half-orc half-ogre shaman wanted her to bring them to him so he might free them from their warped existence.

As she had walked through the barren and dusty land, she came upon the area the shaman spoke of. The southern-most area of the plateau on which she walked was filled with magical energies, turning the very air blue. There, after killing a few, she stumbled across the red nether drake that was being attacked by the drakes she was hunting. Fighting the hostile ones off, she turned her attention to the red drake. Wounded both in body and spirit by other drakes that rejected it, it did not attack her. Feeling a compelling sense of compassion and curiosity, she healed its physical wounds with her holy magic, but its spirit would take much longer to heal. After that day, they traveled together, their only companions being each other. They spoke of many things, killed many, helped many, and grew to be what many would call friends.

* * *

As she led her dragon out, the stable care taker gave an awed look at the rarity of her friend. She ignored it as she ignored all the other looks and took out a few glinting gold coins. Handing them to the man without stopping, they continued until they were outside. She looked up to her friend, rubbing his neck. He sniffed the air and looked at her. "What is that smell on you?"

She glanced back in the direction of the inn, which was blocked by the walls and towers of the city. "A place which no longer welcomes me, Athestrasz." He lowered his head in a half nod as Marivel took a basic bridle from her pack and fastened it around the dragon's head. Athestrasz knelt low, allowing the priestess to climb onto his back. He stood back up, his rider shifting her weight. She settled into place, shifting her skirt, the drake's neck pulling it up to just above her knees to reveal her lithe but ghostly pale legs. She sat for a few moments thinking as she twisted her slender fingers around the split reins she used for non-verbal guidance. Finally raising her head, she spoke a simple word. "Nagrand."

The drake crouched for a split second before it sprang hard into the air. Its nether-webbed wings spread out catching the air in them and began to flap, bringing the two up into the air. The priestess leaned to the left, anticipating the turns and the drake moved quietly through the air. She cherished the feel of flight as the air whipped her hair violently about her. The magical energies that were fused into her clothes and weapons streamed out, mixing with the energies that flowed out of the very drake she rode, leaving a glowing trail behind them.

* * *

As she flew past the Terrace of Light and towards the western wall of the city, a young rogue stepped out of the inner sanctum that housed A'dal, the N'aaru leader of Shattrath. He just managed to catch a small whisper of sound which alerted him to her presence, some hundred yards above. Glancing up, the trailing energies of the dragon were just visible against the pale dawn sky. He paused a moment to watch them vanish, ever careful and alert of his surroundings. As the drake flew over the western wall of the city and over the bordering cliffs, he turned back to the Terrace of Light and began to head off towards the stables.


	2. A Fated Imploration

Ogres begging for a Gronn's favor; grass covered mountains turned into an Earthy marble by thousands of small rivers; plains scattered with trees; wandering souls begging for help from adventurers and travelers. Her eyes took in everything that made up the land of Nagrand and digested it quickly as she watched it all from a goddess' point of view hundreds of feet in the air. She continued until she came to the Mag'har city of Garadar. As she flew into the city limits, some of the mounted guards began to tail her but quickly left their hunt short as they took in the undead aura trailing her. She silently cursed her elfin form for such stupid mistakes.

She whispered to Athestrasz to land near the uppermost structure, the cities' inn. At the sound of his wings beating rapidly as he began to land, guards came out showing themselves completely ready and willing to give their lives for their leader's safety. As she dismounted, they guarded the entrance, weapons at their ready. She cocked her head in amusement. She knew they were no match for her and she had a fleeting thought to demonstrate this for amusement. These orcs were not her enemy though and, cold as she might be, she would not harm them. Her eyes went past them to see whom they were guarding.

The eyes she focused on unsettled her. Clearly the leader by how others revered her in body language, this female Mag'har, though well advanced in years, had the tell tale look in her eyes that showed not only an extreme knowledge of magic, but at least as much knowledge of magic as the priestess had. Another huge piece of information most would not have realized was the fact that this Mag'har was greatly attuned to the spirits around her. The priestess had seen this same sensitive glimmer in the eyes of the Great priestess Tyrande and in the great shamans of Thunder Bluff. She shivered. Meeting others with such great power was unnerving. The Mag'har leader seemed to be judging her in the same way. She turned her head and eyes just slightly as if listening to someone, though all near her were silent, she relaxed her shoulders. Smiling, in a voice young in spirit as it was old in body, she asked the guards to step down.

They obeyed smoothly, without a single questioning glance or signal, which intrigued the priestess even more. Clearly, they were used to such odd orders when dealing with strange visitors.

The priestess stepped forward into the darkness of the building. Her eyes adjusted instantly, one of the pleasures of being Undead as well as Night Elf. The inn was round with a structure in the middle for a fire as well as a hole in the roof allowing smoke to rise. This great leader looked her over with soft but extremely wise eyes, her lips formed in what could be a straight face or a pleased smile, depending on how you looked at it.

"Hello Marivel," She spoke at last. The priestess was startled for a moment at her name, but it did not come as a complete surprise. If she was communing with spirits, knowing her name was as easy as breathing. Marivel dropped her eyes and bowed down a bit to this woman before her.

She smiled at her act of respect and responded, "I know you are terribly curious about me and this place and your questions will be answered in due time. For now I will tell you simply what you need know. I am Greatmother Geyeh of the Mag'har, the last surviving clan of orcs in this world who have not fallen victim to the fel bloodlust." She looked to Marivel, expectant.

Marivel opened her beautiful lips to speak as she shifted her weight to her right side. "I am Marivel Windsong, once of the order Sisters of Elune, priestess under the training of High Priestess Tyrande. The woman you see before you though is now simply Priestess Marivel Windsong. Upon an expedition into a land called Lordaeron, a violent plague concocted by a lich ripped the country apart and turned all living there into what you see before you: the Undead. I am no longer accepted by my own kind, the Night Elves of Darnassus and as such have forsaken the Sister's of Elune and any future I had in serving her." She told the story as a history lesson, letting no emotion betray her icy and pained heart.

Greatmother Geyeh took it all in with sadness but she said nothing of it. "What do you seek of us, Priestess Marivel?"

Marivel tilted her head, shifted her weight back and knelt upon the floor, lowering the staff she held to the ground. "I expected to find only a few tasks that needed doing, perhaps with the spark of rewards. But now, I see in you the eyes of my old teacher. You spark my curiosity."

Geyeh let out a long breath, thinking to herself. As she stared at Marivel with incredibly wise eyes, she began to silently commune with the spirits around her. At last she gathered her words and spoke, "You have much hurt and hate in your heart and you ache with it constantly." Marivel's jaw clenched tightly with this truth being so openly expressed. "You have lived through curses and trials no one should, but have not given in. A great choice will soon be laid before you, one which will have many great and poor rewards. Danger does not scare you, but weakness does. What is ahead of you will expose your greatest weaknesses. While this could lead you to find new strengths greater than any you can imagine, being weak may also cause you to falter and lose yourself to the many dangers this world holds."

Marivel was startled. Hadn't she just chosen this place on a whim? She hadn't wanted to walk into destiny. This sudden foreboding word of such importance left her feeling unbalanced, unnerved, and weak. Her greatest weaknesses exposed? Surely no reward was worth losing herself over, no matter how she despised herself. This day seemed to quickly be growing into more than she wanted.

She lifted her head, which had dropped slowly as she thought to herself. "You know my answer to this."

Geyeh nodded, completely neutral. It bothered Marivel that the Greatmother's face did not betray what she was thinking. "Go and find what you were seeking," she spoke, gesturing to the door. Marivel bowed again instinctively, turned, and left briskly.

* * *

"What is it?" Athestrasz asked as Marivel stepped out of the hut, more flustered and annoyed than he'd ever seen her.

She just shook her head. "I don't want to talk about it," she replied, pausing next to him. She closed her eyes and forced her emotions back in check. Within a seconds she was back to normal. "Let's get on with what we came for."

Days before when she was in the great marshes to the north, she had heard rumors that a people to the south, in the city of Garadar, needed help with the wars they waged with other races and tribes. It wasn't a new type of cry for help by any stretch of the imagination but something perked her interest. She wasn't sure what it was, perhaps the tone of urgency, or the possible tasks, but that morning when she had awoken, the rumor was still in her head. Looking back, she realized that it was one of her "clues," much like a pestering thought, which she used to so often receive from the spirits around her when she was serving under Tyrande. It had been so long since she had experienced those whispers that she nearly missed it.

As she walked with Athestrasz down to the lower areas of Garadar, she came across a very strong looking orc. He was lost in his own thoughts, looking worried and unhappy. She approached him.

"Is there something I can help you with?" she said, using a soft voice with carefully placed notes of concern.

He turned to her, his eyes lighting up a bit. The look on his face showed his intrigue for her form as he began to size her up. She didn't miss his gaze pause briefly at her chest and hips or the mood in his eyes change just slightly. She grinned innerly at the sign of approval. He brought his eyes to meet hers. "I am Farseer Margadesh and I am in great need of anyone willing to fight!"

She grinned at him and nodded, silently asking him to continue. "We are a strong people, but years of battling the ogres of this land are wearing upon us. Just days ago a tribe of Broken, calling themselves Murkblood, attacked our fishing village, massacring many and chasing the rest out of town. The refugees flooded here, but we cannot allow these Murkblood to remain in our lands! We must kill them all off but we must also go about this smartly and strike a blow to their leadership." Marivel grinned widely. This is the task she was waiting for.

Margadesh smiled as he saw her desire for a fight. "Find their leader. Bring me his head and you shall be rewarded." He eyed her again and she had to stifle a laugh. She knew very well he wouldn't mind giving her a _special_ reward, but she would politely accept the usual bit of money, food, or pieces of armor. She had to admit to herself, that the change from others finding her repulsive to treating her like she used to be when she was alive was quite nice. She gave a small bow, almost teasing him by moving her figure that small amount.

Athestrasz knelt down to allow his lady to climb aboard, once again dragging the skirt of her robe to her upper leg. She didn't even glance at the orc, but could feel his hungry eyes upon her. She flew up into the air with a great gust of wind, stirring the dust on the road she had stood upon. As she climbed into the sky she saw a lake to the south west and sure enough, a small village bordered it. She paraphrased to Athestrasz what their task was and they flew.

* * *

A few hours later, a man rode into Garadar on a great skeletal steed. Despite the heat, he was clad completely in dark leather with only his deep glowing eyes left to show. Bright glowing daggers were sheathed at his sides, streaming a magical trail behind him. He stopped at the circle of shamans and seers. Dismounting, he led his mount towards the group as they all turned their attention to him. "I heard a rumor in the N'aaru city," he began, "that your people are in need of help." They held silence for a moment then nodded. One shaman stepped forward.

"Some number of days ago a funeral procession left us on their way to the Ancestral grounds, following that road," he gestured behind him. "They have not yet returned. Around the same time our fishing village to the southeast was massacred." The man grimaced. "We pray for their safety, but have assumed the worst. Regrettably, we cannot get away from our tasks here nor send out any more warriors leaving us in total darkness as to their fate... Will you seek them out?" he asked hopefully.

The man nodded to the shaman who breathed a heavy sigh and thanked him. Another stepped forward and spoke, "Some of our younger orcs, in a fit of anger at the attacks we have witnessed, ran off to fight back against the broken who have been sending raiding parties against us. If you get wind of them," The shaman looked very worried, "please tell us immediately." The man nodded again. He turned to this horse and mounted again. Without another word he rode into the center of the city, spoke with a vendor for a few moments, buying some small bags containing what looked to be dry, fine grained materials and then went off on his way.


	3. A Crusade of Holy Shadow

Marivel dismounted off her friend a few hundred feet away from the fishing village's limits. Making sure she stayed out of site of the guards, she left Athestrasz back within the trees, and snuck forward using the tree-trunks as cover and the well placed times when they had their backs to her to sneak in.

Upon coming to the first guard, she placed her hand upon the back of his head, and speaking a word of shadow magic, watched his body go limp, his knees buckle, and his weight give way to gravity as he dropped dead at her feet. The noise alerted another guard around the corner who ran into sight seconds later. She looked at him and, eyes glowing red, released a scream into his mind that caused him to flee in pain and terror. As soon as she had done this she began to speak the words to summon holy fire down from the sky to strike him down. As it did, his body began to burn alive as the pain broke him of the scream's effects. Using her shadow magic again, she spoke the words causing his mind to be blasted with shadowy pain, driving it to insanity, attacking itself and killing him.

She turned quickly to continue on, killing more guards as she went; words infused with shadow causing instant death; incantations that would cause pain to surge periodically, torturing any it devoured; smiting down these creatures with surging holy magic. She fought with bitter anger at the corpses of many Mag'har that were scattered. She did not kill many quickly and painlessly. These deserved to suffer for what they'd done.

She fought for hours, only pausing briefly to allow her body to regain the strength she needed to draw upon her soul for more magic. As she made her way in a circle around the town slowly spiraling in, using her self-learned stealth tactics, she noticed one building near the center which larger than the rest and had guards posted. She guessed she would find the leader there.

As she ventured towards it, she came upon a shaman and two other warriors. She grinned. As she began to chant words of old magic, she felt her mind reach out as if having an out of body experience. She continued to push forward and then felt it stop, reaching its destination. Suddenly, the shaman stood upright, unmoving. The two fighters looked to him, then to each other, confused. Suddenly, a bright column of fire blasted down on the left warrior, immolating him with holy flames. The other warrior jumped back, in fear and surprise. He looked around to see who had caused it as the Shaman began to attack him. He whirled around, and powerless to do anything else, began to attack the shaman. Marivel grinned as the one burned alive, and the other was forced to fight his companion. As she watched the warrior char and blister as well as drinking in the torturous screams of pain, she spoke a word of death once again, finishing him off with amusement. Two of the guards around the center building had heard the screams and were coming up the grassy hill to see what was happening.

When the two came over the crest, they were horrified to see all the corpses of their warriors strewn about, some burned and charred, some warped by magical energies, some simply plain and dead, weapons still sheathed. Marivel grinned and melted into the shadows as she watched them begin to attack the helpless shaman. As the warrior he had first attacked was struck with a mortal blow from the shamans frost spells, Marivel spoke in a booming voice into his mind, "Kill yourself." And he obeyed, not blocking the next sword strike of the bigger of the two guards.

The guard, horrified that had dealt the killing blow, seemed to suffer a physical knockback as he staggered in horror. "Never thought that would happen, did you?" She asked quietly to herself. Then, using more shadow magic, she began to speak words which channeled into them, tormenting their souls and literally separating them from their bodies. Speaking more words, she silenced their screams by collapsing their throats with more of the beautifully dark shadow magic. She smiled as she watched them fall to their knees, grabbing at their throats. She walked out, watching their eyes widen at her. Watching them struggle at the pain of being near death she knelt down just a bit and took out a beautiful ceremonial dagger. "Those who kill unmercifully will be killed unmercifully," and moving their hands away roughly, she slashed their throats.

She stood, cleaning off the blood with some creatively used holy magic, and walked towards the main structure. She backed against the rough wooden wall that was towards her, snagging her low-cut robes, and peaked around the corner. Two more guards stood guarding the entrance. She stood, contemplating how to pull them over to her without alerting those inside. There was no door, it was simply a wide open door way. She quickly ran her mind over the spells that she knew, deciding what would be best. She closed her eyes and spoke, allowing her to look into and through his mind.

She whispered into his mind and then let go of the channel. She heard him turn to the other guard and assumed he put his finger to his lips and beckoned him to come with him around the corner as she has mentally suggested. She grinned. The gentle pad of their feet on the dirt was unmistakable. She once again summoned the shadows to cloak her as they rounded the corner. Walking by her cautiously, she reached out and touched one on the shoulder and watched his eyes roll back as he collapsed. As he was in mid air falling, she grabbed for her own dagger, and with the swiftness of the elves, stabbed the other in the neck where his helm did not quite meet his back armor, and muffled his panic with her hand. They were lucky, she though. It was a quick death for them both.

She smoothed her hair back and sighed, looking around at the town of slaughtered broken. She grinned again at her handy work. What other priest could do such great tasks? Surely only those trained with Tyrande, and they were sworn to never act like this, and none would. But would she hold to such oaths? No, she had lost all ties with her former world. Now she was known only as The Shadow to most. She'd heard rumors of her killings, but no one knew who she was, or that she was even undead or a woman. After all how could they know? Most people that begged for help asked multiple people. It was so much easier to get things you wanted done finished that way. Those that didn't ask for help from multiple sources usually didn't want many people knowing what the task was and wouldn't advertise who they asked either.

She breathed, kneeling to the ground, looking over the warrior for anything useful. She found a few coins and a ring, but little more. She sat back against the wall and centered herself.

She stood after a minute, and lifted her hand to the sky allowing a small bright light to shine about one hundred feet up or so. She waited twenty seconds before she saw her dragon creep around a building and up to her. Though he was so big, he was amazingly silent.

She jerked her head towards the building and he lowered his head in a half nod, preparing. She took a deep breath and stepped around the corner and came face to face with odds she didn't like.

* * *

The man mounted on the skeletal horse sat talking with the two remaining members of the Mag'hari funeral procession, the one youth left from the retaliation, and two more survivors of the Mag'har fishing village. They had set up a small camp in the midst of the trees on a plain quite desolate save a few beasts of the land. He wasn't looking forward to reporting back to those at Garadar, but he assumed they expected it. Nevertheless, this was news he never liked to give.

As they asked him to slaughter those who had done this, broken and ogres, he suddenly became aware of a disturbance in the air behind him. He tensed, and turned. Raising his eyes to the sky as he scanned, some ways away there was a tiny point of light, about the size of a star. It was broad daylight, a few hours after noon, and no star would show that close to the sun. He excused himself abruptly and said he would see to it that these revenge tasks were completed.

He mounted up quickly and kicked the horse into a canter towards it, leaving the small group behind in a bit of confusion at his hasty retreat. Something struck his curiosity and now that he thought about it, the ever so faint lingering smell of blood was in the air. And wasn't that the direction of the Mag'har fishing village the survivors told him about? Another swift kick brought his steed into a gallop.

* * *

Marivel's eyes met with five pairs of broken eyes that glared as they instantly jumped up to attack. She let off a scream immediately, assaulting their minds with uncontrollable fear and causing them to scatter inside the building. She spoke instant words to each causing their bodies to begin taking damage periodically. There were two that would be easy to kill: they were like the guards outside, but the other three? Two were clearly advanced users of magic, and the third was clearly the leader of them. He was huge, clad in great chainmail and plate, and had an axe nearly as big as her, covered in magical runes.

She called upon holy magic to smite both the two lesser ones, and as they tried to flee from her in fear of their lives, she felt them begin to die. She turned her attention to the other two who began to run back towards her from where they had fled to. As the two casters began to ready magical assaults, she ran outside and around the corner and looked to where Athestrasz waited. She nodded to him, breathing harshly as she ran by. As the three came around the corner and chased her, Athestrasz attacked the last one, causing it to lose its attention on Marivel.

Marivel turned and restrengthened the periodic magic to both of them which was beginning to fade. With a pin-prick of fear, she felt her soul growing weak from casting so much magic. As the leader ran towards her, the caster stopped and began to chant his words of magic again. She heard the unmistakable words of frost, cool in her ears as he spoke them. She quickly spoke fast and channeled against the leaders mind, causing shadow to attack it as well as holy. How strong and resilient he was though! He ignored most of it and kept charging her. As she turned to run, a shard of ice struck her in the leg, causing her to fall.

Adrenaline rushed. She rolled over from her stomach where she had fallen onto the dirt road, and whipped her staff up in both hands just barely in time to absorb the blow of his ax coming down at her skull. The force of the blow ripped the staff out of her left hand, smacking it hard and dangerously close to her arm as the blade of the ax slid down it into the ground. She kicked harshly with her right leg knocking him off balance and she rolled backwards onto her hands and pushed off them in a half back-hand spring. She quickly threw her left hand towards the caster, silencing his voice a split-second before he finished his incantation. She gasped for breath and backed up quickly while channeling a spell again against the broken who had nearly just crushed her skull. As he raised his ax again to swing at her, she, being incredibly worked up, released a critically strong blow with her holy magic. It stopped him for a moment, giving her just enough time to swing her staff nearly as hard as she could into the side of his skull, releasing a flow of blood.

He instinctively reached to his temple with his left hand while his right hand stayed around the ax as it fell to the ground, giving her the time she needed to begin to take control of the caster's mind. As she channeled her words, losing her vision momentarily as her mind reached out, she felt the warrior's fist come slamming into the side of her head, knocking her harshly to the unforgiving ground. She cried out in pain and surprise. The blow seriously dizzied her, but she was coherent enough to give a bitter look of wrath to him and with her rage, she made a mass of shadow explode in his mind with another word of death. His body convulsed. As he tried once again to lift the ax but staggered before he could lift it high enough. He was on the verge of death at last, but as she realized this, the caster had just finished a spell that would mend his wounds slowly. She spoke out a word again, and dispelled it, finally calling down a holy bolt that would shock him to death.

She glanced at the caster who was horrified at his leader being slain. Athestrasz who had finished off the other caster with minimal injuries now dug his claws deep into the back of this one, pushing him to the ground and was beginning to crush his spine. The caster attempted to fight back when Athestrasz roared and breathed a mighty release of flame from his fanged jaws, consuming the caster. The man screamed in torture as he was slowly burned alive, the smell of his charred body filling the air.


	4. When Two Spirits Speak Without Words

Marivel sighed and let her head hang back as it throbbed in pain. She reached her hand up and began to heal it slowly. As she did, Athestrasz came over to inspect her. "Don't want to hear it," she said, expecting a lecture to be more careful.

Sure enough the words came, "You really ought to be more careful. Causing yourself to lose your vision was incredibly risky." She shrugged it off and continued to heal herself. Suddenly Athestrasz growled. She looked at him questioningly and saw his eyes were focused behind her. She stood and whirled around quickly, still bleeding. Her gaze fell upon a male, possibly human or undead, clad in black leather, obviously a rogue by the look of the weapons and armor. She automatically threw up a shield made of holy energies around herself, her spirit exhausting itself. Her mind faltered and her vision blurred slightly as she leaned upon her staff heavily.

The mans eyes looked startled a bit by her sudden act of hostility. "And here I was going to tell you a job well done."

She heard the cool tones of undeath in his voice and lowered her guard. She sighed and, wanting to be away from everyone but Athestrasz in her weakness, began to walk away. It was too early to ask that of her body though and as her dizziness caught hold, she swayed a small amount. The rogue sprung up from his position on the hill above and rushed at her. Alarm rang through her and she began to cast an attack at him. But at that moment, something strange happened. Nothing physical held her back from attacking the rogue but something in her mind did. Not dizziness or exhaustion, but a deep instinct somewhere. Her instinctive alarm however still had caused her to whirl around towards him. She wasn't careful where she placed her left foot and as it hit a slick patch of blood, it slid out from underneath her, hit a small hole and twisted. The intertia she had gained whirling around to face the rogue turned her another half turn as she began to fall to the ground.

The rogue's hands appeared beneath her, quick as lightning, and caught her. "Whoa there, priestess. No need to be hostile. I won't bite… hard." Her ankle moaned in pain as he picked her up and brought her to the grass at the side of the road. He kneeled down, carefully eyed the surroundings, and laid her there so she was still leaning against his right side and arm.

She allowed herself to lie there a few moments to gain back her strength, but she surely did not enjoy it nor did she relax. The rogue, seemingly reading her thoughts, commented, "You know you might recover faster if you weren't keeping your whole form rigid." She said nothing, but closed her eyes, meditating. As she did, her body relaxed reluctantly and she began to recharge her spirit and her energy.

The whole time Athestrasz was growling, wings out and muscles taut, ready to attack the moment his priestess was safe. The rogue looked up and chuckled. "Easy there, friend," he spoke. "I won't be hurting this one today." He looked down at her. She looked exactly like a night elf but was clearly undead. Could it be possible? He'd heard there were more like it in the world but he'd only ever known of two.

A few minutes later she lifted her arms with ease to her head and healed the remaining injuries. "He hit you pretty damned hard from what I saw. 'Was quite a ways away still," he began to speak. She didn't silence him, but she was silent herself, which had the same effect. He pondered her actions for a moment growing aware that perhaps he wasn't saying or doing the right things. When her head was healed, she leaned forward and began to heal her ankle which was already swelling. Everything was silent except for the water of the lake.

At last she began to stand. He attempted to help her up but she rebuffed him, stepping on the hem of her dress in the process. This knocked them both off balance and she fell against him, landing on her knees between his legs as he fell back into a sitting position, catching himself on his arms. She instantly began to push herself up, placing her arms on either side of his hips. However, as she lifted her head she made the mistake of looking into his eyes.

They both froze. The rogue saw the most entrancing beautiful face and eyes as if their attractiveness was enhanced by a seduction spell. The priestess saw someone as strong as she and powerful, yet something deep under the cold undeath and sarcasm. They stared, unmoving for a good fifteen seconds, their breath and heartbeats giving away their nervous awe. It felt like their very hearts were growing bigger in their chests, a tight feeling filling them.

Suddenly, Athestrasz growled from what seemed to be miles away. Marivel's eyes broke from this entrancing gaze and she looked around, suddenly aware she was in a very _interesting_ position with him. She stood quickly, obviously careful of her balance as her white cheeks grew rosy.

The rogue stood as well, confused at the power and the intense emotion he had experienced. He absently reached his hands to his dagger hilts, struggling for words. He felt uneasy. His hands were clamy and shaking slightly. Everything was off balance.

But when he looked at her to speak, the priestess was already walking away, steadying herself with her hand on the drake. She didn't like what she felt, or so she told herself. To be brutally honest she did like it, but it was too intense. She wasn't in control. She'd never felt like that before. Was it magic? Something enchantment she'd yet to discover? She tried to walk quickly as her fatigue began to fade. To her regret, she heard the footsteps behind her come racing up.

The rogue sprinted up to her side and began to walk with her. They walked in silence for a few more moments, her eyes never leaving the road ahead, his constantly scanning their surroundings. "Did you slaughter them all?" he asked at last. She nodded. He kept looking around. "Suppose you don't mind if I collect a reward on them?" He said it in what was meant to be a joke.

She took it seriously. "Long as it's not mine." Even if it was hers that he wanted, she wouldn't mind him getting it if he would leave her presence. He made her nervous, made her heart beat stupidly, and left her breathless. What was this bewitching aura?

He sighed but didn't bother explaining that he hadn't been serious. He kept walking next to her, noticing how quickly she regained her strength. She was quite a hardened killer and very skilled. He struggled again for words. She seemed angry and he didn't like that she felt that way, though he had no idea why he should care. He didn't know her or owe her anything after all. "Listen priestess-"

"Look," she stopped walking abruptly and he followed suit. "Whatever spell you have cast over you, whatever aura you have attacking me, it won't work." She began to mount her drake. "I don't know what you want, but get it from someone else." Without another word, they flew into the air before he could get a single word out.

He was left there watching her fly away. As he did, he realized he had seen her before, just that morning. He shook his head, intrigued but much more confused. He chewed his lip underneath his mask for a moment before he turned and headed towards the trees where he'd left his horse.

* * *

Marivel flew through the clouds, the floating islands that poured out water from unseen magical sources, and through the wisping arcs of magical energies that surrounded these lands, but her mind took none of it in. She was terribly flustered and was having trouble pushing those eyes from her mind. What was it about them that captivated her so?

Garadar was beginning to come into site over the far hills and trees. She would be glad to bring the head back and- the head! Marivel cried out, "Athestrasz stop!" She cursed herself and the rogue silently. "We forgot something," hitting her own head. The drake chuckled and nodded, whirled around and began to beat his wings again. Marivel sighed. They had already been flying for twenty minutes. What forces were at work here keeping her from completing what she wanted? This day just kept getting worse and worse.

* * *

As Marivel used the leader's axe to cut his own head off, the rogue was beginning to near Garadar. He assumed the priestess would have already been there and had flown onto to her next destination. Though his skeletal horse was fast as any mount on the ground, dragons were amazingly fast fliers. She was probably nearing triple his speed. Though he could not deny the eager attraction he felt, he assumed he would never meet her again, and even if he did, he expected she would react the same way she had. For some reason, she seemed to harbor an instant distaste for him.

He sought to put her out of his mind, and as he focused, harder than he expected to have to, he managed to stop thinking of her.


	5. Rewarding Lunch

As Marivel wrapped the head up in some of the clothes she took from a broken caster, she mounted up again and began to fly back to Garadar. She was beginning to grow very hungry and needed to find food soon. She assumed she would be able to get some at Garadar or if she was forced to kill for food, perhaps the spices and seasonings to cook it could be bought from there. She sighed as she was flown through the air, finding her thoughts betraying her and beginning to focus on the rogue again. She shook her head violently trying to force her mind elsewhere. Why couldn't she shake him?

* * *

As she landed back in Garadar, she walked briskly up to the Seer. She thrust the head at him and he grinned widely. "Thank you, my lady." She shrugged. His eyes glittering over her form did not please her in the least this time. She was too flustered. She was almost annoyed by the fact that he didn't even care or notice the fact that she was so. He handed her a set of gloves and a small bag with a generous amount of gold. The gloves were of beautiful craftsmanship, silver in color with traces of green vines along them. There was magic woven into them for the leaves and vines actually moved, bloomed tiny blue flowers, and died. She thanked him as generously as she could in her current state.

She turned and walked away, leading her dragon to the stables on the outer rim of the village. She was feeling such confusion and it was bothering her badly. She wished she could ask Tyrande, who was always happy to listen and give advice. She missed her bitterly. Suddenly Marivel realized something: for the first time since she had accepted being undead, she felt serious loneliness. She had no one to confide it, no one to rant to, and no one to talk to. Athestrasz was the closest she had to friend but she couldn't talk about such human emotions to him.

As she gave the drake to a shaking stable boy to be fed, she turned and walked back towards the other end of Garadar, where she had seen a hut with a cooking fire. A frown painted her face as she ran her right hand through the top of her hair, while she held her staff horizontal in her left. She let her head fall backwards, stretching her neck, and she looked up towards the sky momentarily. As she returned her head back down, she made her way down the road which curled around the hill on which the Great Mother's hut sat to the North and led to the cooking hut.

When she arrived, she found two Mag'har women deep in gossip. One stood on the far end of a table, who was obviously a butcher as she worked cutting slabs of meat from a recently killed Talbuk. She wore a tan skin halter-bra of sorts, with leather straps around her shoulders and beneath her breasts. The dark green pants she wore were cut off at the knees and badly frayed. The other woman was obviously a bit daunted at the work, but focused herself on speaking. She wore a long light blue cloth dress with thin strap sleeves. Marivel, not wishing to be rude and interrupt, waited until one would notice her presence.

"I couldn't believe her! She actually left him to be with an ethereal!" the butcher woman exclaimed as she brought the knife hard into the carcass, carving the meat from the bone with obvious anger.

The other woman shook her head. "I never really did trust Anla to stay with him. She treated his courtship more like an obligation than anything." She again shook her head in displeasure.

"Still!" The butcher continued. "At least he could provide her with a good life! But this Ethereal? You really think she'll enjoy moving all over the world, away from her tribe and family?" Her knife came down again. "I doubt it!"

The other woman shook her head yet again and went on, but Marivel began to ignore the conversation. She was beginning to feel a bit ill from lack of food. It must've been nearing late afternoon and she hadn't eaten in the morning. Still, she held to her politeness.

Finally, much to her embaressment and relief, her stomach gave away her position. The women looked up at the quiet growl. Both gave her a strange look. They had never seen an elf before but there were so many different species coming and going that new ones weren't unheard of. The butcher's strange look turned into a great smile. "Well there dear! You sound quite hungry! What can Miss Nula get for you?"

Marivel grinned as she referred to herself by her own name. "Some lunch if you could."

Nula smiled even wider. Marivel was surprised this was possible: it seemed her smile might split her cheeks. Nula stuck her carver into the carcass and turned around, revealing a single black braid hanging down to her hips. She grabbed a large hunk of bread and hollowed it out with a scooping tool. Then, taking the top off a large cauldron that hung over a smoking cooking fire, she used the ladle in it to scoop out some delicious smelling meat stew into the freshly made bread-bowl.

Nula replaced the top, and turned back to Marivel and held out the food. "35 silver my dear!"

Marivel reached into a small pouch that hung off her larger pack, took out four 10 silver coins, and handed then to the butcher, transferring her staff between her arm and side, and took the food in the other hand. "Keep the rest," she spoke, attempting to give her a genuine-looking smile and after a small bow of thanks, turned and walked out.

Nula and the other woman watched her go with obvious curiosity. Then, Nula broke the stare as she picked up her knives and went back to work. The other woman turned to her. "Strange girl that one was... but she was indeed attractive. Perhaps Gardan..."

Nula looked up surprised. "She would hardly make a suitable mate for a son like mine! Beautiful yes, but too delicate!" The knife came down, severing another large piece of meat.

Her friend mulled this over and agreed. The two continued their gossip for some time longer before parting ways.

* * *

Marivel continued down the road which had led her to the cooking hut. It went out around the city with a hill the led down to the water on one side, and the city on the other. She chose a spot on the water to eat. Kneeling down to sit on the lake's edge, she set her staff next to her, the glowing energies lighting the grass and dirt on which it lay. Using the hand that didn't hold her food, she let her pack slide from her shoulders and set it on the ground to her right. Setting her food on it, she proceeded to take off her cloak, shoulder armor, gloves, and boots leaving her robe and, obviously, under garments on. She let her feet slide into the water which, though a bit cold, was a relief from the hot sun that was beatting on her bare shoulders and arms. Her purple hair grew very warm in this direct heat and created a very thick cover of insulation to her lower back.

She began to eat her meal, surprised at how delicious it was. The bread was Mag'har grain bread and the stew was roasted Talbuk and Clefthoof meat mixed with a classic blend of hot spices along with many other herbs and roots from the surrounding areas. She felt it strengthen her body and her soul and left her feeling extremely refreshed. As she ate, she watched water elementals swim throughout the water, schools of fish swim by, and guards patrolling along the path near which she sat.

When she was finished, she knelt by the water's edge and bathed her hands and face in it, welcoming the cool bite of the water which cleansed the tiny beads of sweat which had formed near her brow.

She lay back on the grass, placing her hands behind her head and pulling her feet up out of the water. She stared into the sky. Once, she would've enjoyed this view. She would've loved the smell of the air, adored the sun on her face, the wind across her skin and through her hair, and the earth beneath her. Now grief and pain had turned her heart cold and though it only showed when she fought, she blamed and hated everything for what had happened to her.

She let her eyes close but her expression turned sour when the eyes of the rogue came to her once again. She forced her thoughts away from him yet again. She sighed, focusing on the sounds around her. As she studied them scrutinously, the repetition of the waves caused her mind to relax, growing slightly drowsy. Before she realized, she was beginning to drift into a dream. She tried to open her eyes and awaken herself, but when she did, what should have been the skies of Nagrand were now the tall trees of Teldrassil.


	6. Sorrowful Ends make Broken Beginnings

A young doe grazed near a gigantic tree off to Marivel's left, but she took little notice. With hurry in her steps while maintaining the grace of a priestess, she made her way down the road departing from the Oracle Glade and back towards Darnassus. This task was not out of the ordinary by any means: she often went back and forth from the glade carrying messages to and from High Priestess Tyrande. But on this particular mission, something just did not feel right. When the oracle had given Marivel a scrolled message for Tyrande, she had felt fear and dread in the air as if it were tangible. Neither the oracle nor Marivel gave any indication that it was there. Marivel bid farewell in her usual manner and left.

Now as she walked through the gates of the city, being greeted by the guards who knew well who she was, she was worried. It was not often that the oracles would be so disturbed by something they saw in their visions or heard whispers of on the wind. But Marivel knew better than to open this note and learn of something that might be better left secret, despite her prodding curiosity.

She made her way through the streets, the children and vendors, the guards and warriors, the priestesses and druids, along the gardens and lakes, ultimately towards the Temple of Elune. As she walked, she heard a sound of music on the wind, carried magically far from the one who created it. Despite her anxieties, as always, her mother's soprano singing accompanied by her father's deep baritone soothed her mind. Their family was well named Windsong.

Despite her body's urging to stop and listen, to seek out her mother and father and join in their song, her logical mind forced her body to keep on her trek to the temple.

As she entered the temple, stopping briefly to greet the guarding sentinels, she felt the strong presence of the goddess. She immediately aware that Tyrande has sensed her come in.

Marivel made her way to the upper level of the temple and around the balcony to where Tyrande usually stayed and taught. She was there as always, speaking to another priestess. Marivel waited politely for them to finish, bowed to each of them when they had, and handed Tyrande the letter as the other priestess left. Tyrande nodded her thanks, neither of them needing to speak a word.

As Tyrande read the note, she was careful not to let emotion show on her face, but to Marivel's trained senses it was obvious there was something terrible happening. Tyrande folded the message after she'd read it twice and looked to Marivel. She stared intensely for a moment and then opened her mouth to speak. "There was a message carried on the wind... far to the east in the land of Lordaeron, something is disturbing the worldly balance. The oracle does not know what, but she is certain it must be dealt with immediately before it grows out of hand." She paused briefly, thinking again. "Marivel, though this is certain to hold great danger, I am trusting you with the task of discovering what is happening. I am fearful that it is something great and were the Lunar Festival not so close I would go myself. Therefore I am asking this of you, one of my most trusted Priestesses."

Marivel bowed low, her fears gone for the fact that she had been given a task of grave importance. "I thank you that you trust me so deeply, High Priestess. I will seek this disturbance out and I will take care of it," she spoke, foolhardy with excitement.

Tyrande did not share this emotion. "Be careful, Marivel. My spirit is not at peace about this mission, but I don't know why..." Tyrande's eyes seemed to glaze over as her vision seemed to see through Marivel to something else. Finally, she blinked and spoke again, "I will select a group of well trained and my most trusted sentinels, as well as a few priestesses and druids. When you have prepared yourself for this journey, return to me. Make haste."

As Marivel gave her farewell to Tyrande as the dream image faded to gray. Slowly a new scene emerged.

* * *

Marivel stood on the docks of the Rut'Theran village as the ship she would take across the world was finishing its final preparations for the long voyage. As she stood there watching, a tall male night elf walked the length of the dock towards her, and upon reaching her, placed his hand on her shoulder to alert her of his presence.

Marivel turned to look to him and smiled. "Theridran," she spoke. "I am glad you were able to come see me before I left. I was afraid you might be too busy..." her sentence trailed off unfinished as she saw the dark look of worry in his eyes. "What is it?" she asked her druid friend.

Theridran stared into her eyes with depth she'd never seen from him. "I'm worried."

Marivel smiled, "Do not worry, there is no need. All will be well!" she spoke, trying to dispel this fear in him. It did not go unnoticed to her own thoughts that he, along with everyone else who knew of this voyage, felt strongly worried.

He did not seem convinced. Never the less, he nodded. Then, with an act that surprised both himself and the beautiful dark skinned woman before him, he raised his right hand and put it against her cheek, caressing it softly. "Marivel," he spoke, the words touching her very soul, "bring yourself safely back to me."

Marivel felt breathless at this surprisingly affectionate touch, but simply nodded. She brought her own hand up to his, held it, and then brought it from her cheek. She squeezed it in an effort to comfort him as well as herself. "I will see you soon. I promise." She let go. She turned form him and walked onto the boat without a single look back.

The vision began to blur again. As the scene once again melted to another, four weeks later than the last, she again saw her old, living self.

* * *

She was holding another Night elf, a sentinel, in her arms. The Sentinel was sobbing the tears of one who knew death was coming but Marivel did not try to comfort her or soothe her fears. She only held her closely as they waited for their impending and tragic ends.

The Oracle had been right, but on a scale she could have never imagined. They had assumed that the disturbance they had sensed would perhaps be some rogue Mage or Warlock of the Burning Legion disturbing the natural order of nature. But what they found was nothing so simple; they found a Lich who had created a terrible plague.

Lordaeron was a dying land. It seemed that all the plants and animals, even the very air was sick. As their party had wandered, seeking out anyone who knew what was going on, they found a human farmer. This man was malnourished and, judging by his haggard appearance, had been wandering for days on end. He told them horrific stories of a plague that had spread and killed all of his town, but that the dead would not stay dead. He had returned home from selling his goods to find his family being slaughtered by living skeletons and rotting men. Tears filled his darkened eyes as he spoke of his cowardice of hidding unnoticed in the trees. The dead left the broken bodies where they were and when it was safe, he buried them. More horrible still was that two days later, his wife came back to life as a mindless killer and attempted to kill him too. He'd been forced to strangle her with his own hands and was now numbed by grief and pain.

They offered him food and drink but he refused them both. They offered him protection and a place among their party, but he denied their hospitality. "I have lost my friends, my children, my wife. They were everything to me, my life... Its only right I lose that too." With heavy hearts, they bid him farewell.

On the eighth day after they had come ashore, the Sentinels caught the trail of what they could only assume to be a large group of undead. They were heading north into High Elven lands. Informed that the trail was rather fresh and, that by the looks of the land, the plague may have not spread there yet, Marivel made the choice to head on and see if there was any help to be given.

Quel'thalas was bloodstained. A blackened trail of rotted plants, dismembered corpses, and twitching limbs ripped through the hills like a bolt of lightning. The fresh stench of blood and smoke met them while they cautiously followed it. As they crossed a large river and crested its banks, Marivel's hopes dropped. The mission was an utter failure. Hundreds of fallen elves were scattered in the burnt grasses. The force that had caused this could not be stopped by them. She turned back to her comrades and after discussing all available options, they decided it best to report back to Darnassus.

But their escape was not permitted. As they made their way through the trees and back to the river, their party was suddenly attacked by a dozen or so undead. The smell was nauseating. They made to kill and silence them quickly, but as the group of undead were killed a second time, more began to appear from the North. The Druids started to fall. Sentinels began to tire. And yet the numbers of their adversaries only seemed to grow!

Marivel knew that it was useless. The undead seemed to fear nothing and their attacks were too many for her to heal against. "Run!" she yelled to those around her still left standing. Straining her magic to shield herself in Elune's grace, she ran with a Sentinel from the mass of rotting warriors. The Elves left behind did their best to help, managing to use their own lives as a distraction and provide enough time to escape.

Now only Marivel and this young sentinel were left. They ran until their legs gave out and crawled into a grove of Blood Thistle where they hid and waited. She knew it was only a matter of time before her death would find her too. The forest was deadly silent. She took the other girl in her shaking arms and began to sing sad lullabies to pass the time: songs of home, song of love, songs of death. Yet all too soon, death was upon them. The very sentinels who had sworn to protect her were now mindlessly attacking her.

Marivel raised her staff to block the sentinel's moon glaive as it sliced cleanly through the air. The huntress had her on the defensive and her attacks were relentless. More undead began to appear and attack her. Marivel had no idea how she managed to block each of the attacks, but somehow she did. She kept her form controlled and perfect and waited for her foes to make a mistake, but it never came. A sharp scream from her last comrade who remained alive broke her concentration. A split second later Marivel felt a blade in her back. As she stood frozen, skewered like some animal on a spear, the sentinel she had been fighting drove her glaive into Marivel's chest, shattering the ribs just next to her heart.

The air rushed out of her lungs through the wound and blood sprayed the sentinel's stoney face. The blade was ripped from her chest, pulling flesh and cloth with it. Marivel involuntarily coughed and gasped, but her lungs were collapsing. She dropped her staff and fell to the ground, suffocating as the other blade was torn from her back. Her hands shook as they feebly tried to cover her wound, to heal it, but the pain was immense, the panic took over her trained mind. She distantly registered that she was dying. Visions flooded her mind. Darnassus, Teldrassil, her friends, her parents, Tyrande, and finally Theridran, all of which she would never see again. Tears flowed down her cheeks, mixing with the blood splattered there.

Slowly as the vision darkened, her eyes focused on a man walking towards her, his massive armor adorned with bones and skulls. He looked almost alive despite the sunken darkness in his face. His glowing sword was that last thing she remembered seeing.

Though the dream was over, the true nightmare had not ended. It was only the beginning.


	7. What's Really in a Name

Marivel awoke slowly, eyes dry despite that she felt she had been crying. And though she was drenched in sweat, she shivered uncontrollably. Her hair was matted to her face and her robes twisted about her. She sat up, remembering where she was, realizing it was only a nightmare.

But it wasn't just a nightmare. It was her nightmare, her life, her past, her death. She shivered in the cold reality of this world, her depression darkening within her. She held her arms around her, staring out over the water.

Suddenly, a hand was upon her back, on the spot where the blade had struck her moments before. She leaped forward, grabbing her staff and turning to face her attacker in one swift motion. Her piercing eyes met a familiar dark form. She did not allow her eyes to meet his this time, but she could sense his concern for her still.

"Are you..." The rogue struggled for words he hoped wouldn't frighten her away again. "Are you alright?"

Marivel stood silent, a small shiver trickling through her as the wind from across the lake blew her hair away from her and dried the sweat her nightmares had brought. The rogue waited, growing steadily more worried she would take off again even though it was absurd that he wanted to keep her there in the first place.

She turned away, interrupting his thoughts, and began to put her armor back on. "I'm fine," she spoke at last and picked up her pack after tying her cloak securely around her other armoring. She stood, slipping her arms through the backpack's straps and began to walk away. The pain she constantly felt from her past life and its ending was no longer hidden deep within her and she could feel something in this man breaking her stone resolve even more than it already was. She needed to get away.

"Please wait!" The words came out of his mouth unbidden, surprising him more than they did her. But ever more surprising was that she did stop. Slowly and cautiously, she turned around.

Marivel couldn't believe herself. Her mind was screaming at her to leave, to get away from this point of weakness, but her heart was betraying every instinct she had. A slight curious longing for him had taken hold of her. They stood for a moment, looking towards each other, both careful not to meet the other's eyes for fear of recreating that strange sensation. Then Marivel's eyes dropped completely to the ground as she spoke, "May I ask your name...?"

"Theridan," he spoke easily. Instantly he bit his tongue and shuddered. A rogue did not give his name out, not to anyone! What had bewitched him so that now he gave his name to a complete stranger the moment it was bidden of him? But his terror of giving out this vital piece of information was quickly over shadowed by Marivel's reaction.

At the sound of his name, her eyes went wide in horror and her entire body went rigid as if she were a marble statue. She abruptly whirled around and began to walk hurriedly off back to the town. Theridan ran after her, calling for her to stop.

"Please! What is it? Why do you keep walking off?" When she did not answer he said again, "What _is_ it?" as he grabbed the wrist of her left hand with his right and whirled her around to face him. But at seeing her beautiful face streaked with tears, his grip loosened, which she harshly jerked free of and continued back toward the stables.

As she reached them, she shoved a few golden coins at the once again shaking stable boy. Turning to Athestrasz in a corral, she untied the reigns that held him to a post. Theridan was once again nearing her. "Please, priestess," he began sincerely.

Athestrasz let a deep growl out and Theridan stopped his pursuit short at the gate of the corral. "Tell me," he started again, "what did I do?"

Marivel did not look back at him until she was mounted on her drake and hovering a few feet above the ground. She looked back towards him for a moment. Then shaking her head, her face showing the effects of someone about to break into heartbroken sobs, she spoke to Athestrasz and he took no time in flying them away as fast as his nether wings could.

Theridan was left in the windy wake, staring after them. He stood there for a few minutes wondering again what about this woman was so different, beyond her obvious physical body of course.

He finally turned and began to walk back down the road, away from the ever shaking stable boy, towards the main hut. Conveniently, he passed the cooking hut, where the Butcher's conversation sparked his attention.

* * *

When they were high enough, Marivel guided Athestrasz onto a magically floating island that were common to the lad of Nagrand, and nearly falling off her drake when they'd landed, fell into a fit of sobbing. For nearly an hour she cried, bouts of sobbing alternating with coughing and gasping. It seemed like an eternity for her as every time the wound that had been reopened began to seal, she would see Theridran's face again, hear his words, and begin to cry anew. She shook against Athestrasz's body, who had curled himself around her in an attempt to comfort.

Finally, the crying waned enough for Athestrasz to ask what had happened. Marivel sniffled a bit before she began, attempting to stem the crying for as long as possible. "Long ago, Athestrasz, when I was still part of the living world, there was another male of my kind, named Theridran. He was my betrothed- my intended mate. I was to marry him after I had finished my training to become a priestess of Elune, possibly even High Priestess one day..." She spoke, her words trailing off into memory. "But it happened too early... I _died_ too early..." the tears were streaming down her face. "I haven't seen him since I died and I probably never will again." She struggled to keep a sob down. "That rogue," she explained, "the one I met in the fishing village... said his name was Theridan. And I..." She began to sob. "It just all came back," she burst out as she wept. The dragon sighed in sympathy and understanding as his companion cried.

When her sobs began to wane and she slowly drifted to a thankfully dreamless sleep, he snuggled her closer. 'What a cruel game the gods play with this one,' he thought. "I'm sorry," he whispered aloud as he draped his wing across her body for a blanket and went to sleep too. Behind them the sun had set and the stars above were beginning to shine.


	8. A Poor Night

Fiddles and flutes, drums and symbols, singing and laughter all came together in cheerful arrangement that flowed through the starlight streets of Shattrath. The warm breeze carried a beat that was hard not to dance to and drew others into the building's warm light and atmosphere. The music was alive with drunken joy, and many eyes drank deeply in lust for the barmaids and the other scattered females around the rooms.

Theridan sat in World's End Tavern in northern Shattrath as he did nearly every night. Though on most nights he could be found at the bar, tonight he was seated at one of the tables in the darkened corners, normally only used for shady trading. He was not one of the revelers tonight. He simply sat in his chair, which he had leaning back against the wall, drink in hand, his mask still covering his face revealing he hadn't taken a single sip yet.

Tonight, it seemed even drinking would not diminish his thoughts and pains. Earlier he had been able to rid the girl, whom he discovered through a gossip chain was named Marivel, from his mind. Now he found it much more difficult. He had overheard the butcher talking with another young Mag'har woman, apparently one in training to take over the Great Mother's position, and discovered from their conversation that some woman, who was unlike any they had ever seen, had bought food from the butcher. The younger woman explained that she'd overheard some of the conversation the stranger had had with the Great Mother and that her name was Marivel.

"Marivel," he mumbled to himself. "What is it about you,"f he again spoke in a heated whisper, "that has me entranced?" He slowly twisted the glass around on the table as he ran the day's events over in his head. It only seemed possible that something in his very name had frightened her. And though he did not care anymore who he walked on or hurt, the tearful reaction he had caused in her left him feeling ill and horribly disturbed.

"Girl trouble, friend?" Spoke a male voice to his side. Theridan shifted his eyes. He hadn't noticed the wine merchant, who often hung out at the tavern in the evening, had approached him. His lack of attention to his surroundings bothered him even more.

This merchant was one of the few people that Theridan spoke regularly to, despite it always being casual small-talk. Though some took Theridan's sarcasm and joking manner to be signs of closeness, he was far from it, and never let anyone near.

"Alamaro," He spoke in slight greeting, though there was always a tone of annoyance in the rogue's voice. "What do you mean," he questioned.

The High Elf laughed heartily, the sound always harsh on Theridan's ears. "You've been coming in here for the last year and I've never seen you like this _once_. Who is this lady?" He said with unabashed eagerness.

Theridan let his chair settle back down on all fours and setting his glass down, he propped his chin up on his right hand. His eyes stared forward at nothing. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Secretive as always!" The elf retorted immediately, chuckling. Theridan said nothing. Alamaro waited several more moments for an answer, then shrugging with defeat, he turned and began to walk away.

At last Theridan fully looked up at the departing Alamaro. Then turning his face to look staight forward again, "Marivel," he spoke at last. "I believe her name is Marivel."

The elf turned around and practically jumped into the chair across from Theridan's with great enthusiasm. "You believe?" he asked, excited to finally be getting some personal chatter out of this rogue, whom he still didn't even know the name of.

"She ran off before I could get ten words out of her. I overheard her name from someone else."

"So, a woman you've barely talked to has your thoughts focused so unconditionally on her? Interesting..."

Theridan looked up at him again. "I would like to know how you even knew it was a woman," he spoke distastefully.

The elf laughed yet again, shrill as a Hawkstrider. "Friend, you may be well versed in the ways to keep all things hidden, but you are lousy at keeping female troubles from your eyes!" Theridan let his eyes drop down again, and finally pulled his mask down to take a sip from his mead, revealing a handsome face whose glowing eyes were nearly the only clear way to tell he wasn't living.

The two were silent for a time as Theridan continued to think and Alamaro watched him closely. "Marivel," Alamaro spoke, begining to chew the name over. "I believe I've heard that name before."

Theridan couldn't stop his eyes from looking up nor showing the interest to hear anything the man might know about the woman. "She's undead," he said hastily, hoping to ring a mental bell.

Alamaro thought a bit more. "I don't know many undead. Perhaps I was mistaken."

"She's undead," Theridan began again, "but she looks..." he trailed off.

"Yes?" Alamaro curiously beckoned him on after he didn't continue.

Theridan's eyes began to glaze as his vision went elsewhere, imagining her face. "She looks like a Night Elf," he spoke incredibly softly.

This certainly seemed to perk Alamaro's interests. "A night elf you say? Why, there weren't many night elves who were unlucky enough to catch the plague themselves!" He began to think again. "Marivel... Marivel... where have I heard that name!"

"A priestess," Theridan added.

Suddenly, Alamaro's smile faded and all his joy vanished. "A powerful priestess...?" He asked hesitantly. At Theridan's nod, Alamaro abruptly stood up from the table. "If that's who I think it is, I suggest you stay away from her," he said, his response stern.

"And why is that?" Theridan replied skeptically after him.

"She isn't known for her kindness nor her image," was all he said and walked away to go flirt with Kylene, the beautiful blood elf barmaid.

Theridan watched him go, more confused than ever but intrigued as well. He carefully let none of these things show on his face though, so well that one might have assumed he'd been talking of frivolous things. He slowly allowed his chair to lean back again against the wall and began to finish his drink.

The music and dancing continued as did his sipping. When he had emptied his glass and placed it back to it's resting spot on the table, he replaced his mask and stood, the chair clattering back down to all four of its legs again and shifting slightly away from him. He left several silver coins on the table and glided quietly out the door into the night air. The few who were acutely aware enough to even notice his presence, quickly forgot about him in their chatter, dancing, and joy.

As he walked into the Lower city, keeping to the shadows as was natural for him, he felt the annoying sense of inner conflict. Some strange part of him, a part he wasn't sure he'd ever been made aware of until now, was beginning to surface and wanted nothing more than to see that Priestess again. Yet, of course, his cool and calculating mind brought him back to the harsh reality that the priestess did not seem to want anything to do with him. What was more, he'd been warned already that she was ill news, which was of little surprise seeing that she looked just like a member of the hated Alliance yet was of the Horde. A woman of that destiny would surely be hated by all and would respond with nothing but the malice that was bestowed upon her. He'd known too many undead and living alike to ever hope for a drop of compassion and, his mind forced upon himself, she would certainly be no exception. Still, that small part of him that desired to see her again hoped... it hoped that maybe, this woman might be different.

"No," he said abruptly and aloud to himself, disturbing only a small mouse who was previously unaware of his presence. "She will not be different. They never are," he spoke acutely. With this, he suppressed that hope as strongly as he could, and again, drove her beautiful face from his mind.

He turned his path sharply and headed straight towards the inn that he always stayed at were he in the city. Aldor Rise would soon hold his sleeping and seemingly defenseless body.

* * *

Marivel awoke disoriented. For the first few moments after she opened her eyes, she was not able to recall where she was or how she had gotten there and the sharp pricks of panic began to creep into her. But as she felt the soothing presence of Athestrasz, warm against the cold air brushing her skin, her fears subsided. She began to lift her head when a coursing pain in her neck made her all too aware that she'd slept in a bad position. Her matted hair was sticking to her face as well, an all too familiar sign that she'd been crying during her sleep.

As she reached a hunched but seated position, she rubbed her face and eyes attempting to regain full consciousness. Images of soon forgotten dreams still hung hazily in her head, already difficult to remember. She weakly stood, legs threatening to give out beneath her. She turned to her companion who was already beginning to stir at her movement. Glancing around at the large floating island they were on and spotting some large rock formations with trees sprouting around them, she walked behind them to gain a bit of privacy where she relieved herself.

After she'd finished, she stretched out her kinks and walked back to her previous spot. Sitting down, she brought her knees up in front of her and hugged them loosely with her left arm. Marivel turned her eyes upward to look out into the sky as her fingers combed through her mass of knots. The day before slowly came back to her memory, the sharp pain already dulling to a small ache under her various mental defenses. The sun had set and was long gone now, having taken it's extreme warmth with it. Now the moon was high above and sitting in a sea of stars, haloed by the wisping arcane currents on the world.

"Are you well?" a low and sleep touched voice spoke to her right. Marivel simply nodded once in response. Letting go of her knees, she leaned back against the bulk of her friend's body. She sighed heavily, the sigh of those who've had more dealt to them in their life than anyone should ever have had to go through. Athestrasz, in response, pulled her closer with his tail. The act surprised her, but she welcomed it and turned onto her right side, draping her right arm over his neck. She lay against him, nuzzling slightly.

They stayed like this for some time, silently listening to the sounds of the water cascading from nearby isles as the moon slowly edged its way toward the horizon. Sleep tugged at Marivel's mind as she began to drift off. As her thought patterns crossed over her lonesome undeath to Theridran and finally to Theridan, as they were never far from him now, sleep had lulled her enough not to resist. She found herself curious of him rather than repulsed. The response he had evoked surely as terrifying as it was new and unfamiliar, but part of her found it exciting as well. To her deep surprise, she actually found herself thinking of how to seek him out again, to find his dark yet strangely alluring figure, to be held captive again by his profound eyes...

The onset of sleep was pushed back suddenly as she grasped the reality of her thoughts. Now fully awake it scared her, the idea of being that stunned again. She vastly shivered, causing Athestrasz to tense momentarily before relaxing back to a sleepy state of awareness. She hugged closer to him still as she stared out into the night. Her eyes wide and aware while her heart beat rapidly. She once again found herself wondering why she was drawn to him so much. As her mind raced around Theridan and herself, a deep foreboding feeling began to fall upon her. Its claws of worry and distress took hold of her heart, squeezing it tightly.

It took considerably more time to drift back to sleep again as it often does when one experiences a fright, and Marivel was certainly frightened. But eventually, the lulls of sleep were powerful enough to override her fears.


	9. Demons, Dresses, and Battle

Marivel awoke again, this time having slept better than her last awakening. Her neck was considerably less sore and a bit of rolling soothed any lingering aches. She stood up and stretched. The sun over Nagrand was already rising into the mid morning sky and had warmed the air tremendously from the night before. A lingering scent of rain blew from the northern Marsh lands and threatened to bring shower darkened clouds.

She turned to Athestrasz who was waking up as she did. She assumed however that he had not been sleeping for sometime and simply resting while he waited for her to awaken. He often did this. As he stood up and stretched, she blessed herself with her magic with the power of levitation, and controlled her fall as she jumped from the island. She floated gently down to an island just beneath her which had a waterfall running off of it. You could not see where the water came from, but Marivel could sense in her spirit that there was a well of water blessed by a great water elemental spirit to possibly always flow. This magic was what gave the water itself slight healing properties on top of a crisp delicious taste.

She knelt to the water and after rinsing her face, she drank of it. It was cold enough to make her shiver once before the sun above warmed her skin again. As she took a brush out of her pack to clear her mass of knots on top of her head, she saw Athestrasz glide down and take a drink of the water as she had. As she brushed out her hair, Athestrasz flew down to bathe underneath the waterfall itself. They both finished their tasks within seconds of each other, and Marivel mounted up upon her friend when he flew back to her.

"Let's return to Shattrath," she spoke, and he obeyed as his wings beat hard to lift up off the ground and take to the air heading east, back towards the city they'd originally set out from the night before.

As they landed upon the Terrace of Light, Marivel noticed a large crowd had gathered around the main flight master of the city. Those who did not of mounts that flew could rent them from the flight master for a small fee or even buy them for quite a sum of gold.

As Marivel and Athestrasz made their way over, they found a Draenei woman recruiting help. "We need all able warriors who have means of flight to come to Skettis immediately!"

A human paladin in the crowd asked, "Where?" before anyone else had a chance.

"Skettis!" She repeated. "It is an Arakkoa city that lies beyond the Skethyl Mountains. The Sky Guard need all able bodies to come out and help beat the Arakkoa back! A few months ago our scouts detected a huge increase in activity there. Several attacks against the cities in the Terokkar forest and Shattrath have followed." Marivel recalled one of the attacks as she had been present and had helped fight them off. "I say again, Any available warriors are needed! We must not let the Arakkoa gain any foot hold!"

Marivel pondered the plea for a moment, but soon squeezed Athestrasz with her legs gently, urging him to continue on their way as the Draenei continued to speak with others who were more interested.

As she directed him down one of the ramps that led down into the lower city, they headed towards the trading district. As Marivel passed the stalls of vendors and other fighters like herself selling things they had looted or crafted, something caught her eye. There was an adventurer shouting out his price from a gown he had. Marivel motioned Athestrasz towards the man who called out his price. He quickly looked to Marivel and held up the dress. "300 gold, milady," he spoke after he had his nerve. He spoke in Common, the human tongue, but she had a fairly good grasp on the language despite allying herself with the Horde. She spoke back to him in common, "May I see the item?" He handed the dress to her skeptically, being obviously careful not to touch her skin. She could tell her undeath disturbed him, but she cared not. She could see that there was a strong enchantment on this dress.

Items, such as this one, which were made of a thin fabric known as nether-weave, could be given certain enchantments that no others could. The dress she was wearing currently was enchanted by Night Elvin enchants, or Blessings of Elune. Every type of enchant had a certain magic to it that could be sensed by those trained to, and she was trained in the art by the greatest. However, the enchant on the dress she held in her hands she couldn't quite determine. "Where did you find this?" She asked politely, but not hiding her curiosity.

He grinned at her intrest. "In the large valley a ways east, beyond the Skethyl mountains and the forests of Terokkar. I've heard it called Shadow Moon. Not many of us out there yet, but its crawling with demons. Found this in possession of a demonic priestess..." When he said in possession of, what he truly meant was he had killed a demon priestess when she had worn it or perhaps more likely, looted it off of a corpse he'd found.

_Of course_, Marivel thought to herself. The enchantment was partially demonic, that had been the power which she had been sensing. As she turned the dress over in her hands, she could feel the enchants upon it. It had blessings to increase ones damaging magics and to increase the wearers vitality in both physical body and spirit. The enchantments were extremely strong and without a second thought, she immediately pulled out her money pouch. as she slid off Athestrasz. She walked over to one of the public scales in the middle of the market and weighed out 300 pieces. She handed them to seller and walked away quickly, leaving the human wondering if he had sold it at too low a price.

She mounted back up on Athestrasz and they flew the short flight to the public bath houses. Walking in, she quickly undressed, went to the bathroom, and then washed herself with the basin of heated water and the soap that was provided in a private stall after paying the tender a few gold. She took about twenty minutes to wash out her hair and clean herself of all the dirt and sweat she'd accumulated the day before.

Rising out of the water and wringing out her hair, the scent of flowers lingering from the soaps began to flow into the air. The water trickled down her body and legs as she toweled herself off, anxious to slip into her new robe. She pulled on her under garments after also taking the time to use her magic to dispel all impurities from them. As she pulled the dress on, the magic within it form fit it to her body. It was a black and red, with gold trim.

The top of the dress was all black and strapless, coming over her breasts in a corset fashion and showing her cleavage generously. The back on the dress was completely open, perhaps for demonic wings. The stomach was also open and had delicate golden chains and lining around it. A small red and gold wrap was sewn and tied on top the second layer of the skirt, which was black and red and that lay on top of the final bottom later, which was blood red. The first wrap was held together by a golden signet just under her belly and the wrap had gold lining that had the semblance of a spiderweb. Gold trinkets hung from it as well which jingled hauntingly when she walked and moved. A red sash hung down from the signet hiding where the second and third layers connected. All of it was lined in a gold trim, and the bottom of the skirt also had a red trim before the gold.

As she adjusted to the feel of the fabric, she could feel the demonic magic in it. It was a strange feeling, both smoldering hot and yet icy cool. She felt in conflict with the blessed magic she had learned from Elune and knew this was from an extremely powerful demon. The immense power that was captured in the gown was nearly out of even Marivel's ability to enchant. The desire for more of this power began to fill her mind and she immediately decided to head for this Shadow Moon valley the merchant had spoken of.

* * *

As Marivel and Athestrasz passed over the tree tops of the forest, she held her eyes shut and began to fortify her body with holy armor as well as her spirit. She concentrated fully on her fortification spells to make them as powerful as she could muster: she had an inkling that she would need it. As she finished her last spells to surround her body, she sensed a small change in the magical properties of the air. As she opened her eyes, she could see that several miles ahead of them the air grew dark and the light became green with fel taint.

"That must be the valley," She spoke to Athestrasz above the wind that was rushing past her ears. She noticed he looked a little worried at her words, but wrote it off nothing but his normal worry for her safety. She had never been there, having only followed the trail of gifts and rewards to the other lands of this world so accurately named "outland". As the taint in the air became stronger, she could tell why the valley of Shadow Moon was virtually unsettled for now. Without either being inclined to demonic magic or shielding oneself with holy, nature, or arcane magic, the very air of the valley would make one violently sick within a couple hours.

Athestrasz flew swiftly towards the ever increasing fel infused air. Marivel could not only feel the vast darkness in it, but also the power. She was drawn to it, perhaps by the robe, perhaps by her undead spirit, or perhaps in the same way Illidan Stormrage himself has desired the power that changed him forever so long ago.

As they cleared the blurred border between the two lands, Marivel found it increasingly hard to breath. Her magic, though filtering the air for her and protecting her from its harm, did not make it easier to breath it in. Athestrasz began to slow down as well.

Without warming, he cried out a dragon's growl and stopped harshly as he could. Marivel, thankful for her fantastic reaction speed, all but kept from falling forward. Athestrasz hovered for a moment, shaken. Before Marivel could catch the wind back in her lungs to say anything, he dove down to the ground. He flew into one of the large clump of trees which marked the border of the forest. As they landed, Marivel briefly spotted a horde village not far from where they were. When the air has ceased rushing past her face and she was able to speak clearly, she gasped, "What is it!"

The Dragon shook his head, obviously flustered. "I dare not go any further." He nodded forward, gesturing to the air well beyond the trees in which nether drakes, ridden by some sort of humanoid, soared. "This land holds the home of the Netherwing, and I am neither welcome nor have safe passage here. If the Netherwing were not enough, the fel orcs here enslave my kind, as you can see. They will pay little attention to you, but I would bring you much unwanted trouble, and I fear it may even be too much for you." Athestrasz turned his head slightly to look back to her rider. She looked worried. Athestrasz knew well how strong she was which caused Marivel to wonder what could he possibly know of that gave him worry for her?

As a response, she nodded towards the village that she was "born" allied with as a member of the undead Forsaken and Athestrasz began to fly to it slowly, careful to hover near the ground and the trees in hopes of avoiding being seen.

As they walked into the small encampment, a female orc warrior put down the crate she'd been carrying and walked up to her, axe in hand. The Fel taint was being held back by some enchantment upon this woman's armor just as Marivel had done. She dismounted and bowed briefly to the warrior. "And you are?" The orc spoke.

"Priestess Marivel of the Forsaken," She addressed. The orc eyed her clothing with disdain. "I acquired this in Shattrath," Marivel explained her demon robes. "I have affiliation with the demons of this land." The woman seemed to accept her reasoning but kept a very wary eye upon her.

"What brings you to this _forsaken_land?" the pun did not escape Marivel's ears.

"I'm searching to find someone to teach me of the enchants upon this robe."

Her words did not seem to reach the orc as she sized Marivel up. Finally the woman spoke. "I am Malka of the Kor'kron. I do not know where you will find such things, but perhaps Gulmok will know something," she spoke as she shrugged her head towards another orc, who was overseeing construction of a wall around the the settlement. Marivel bowed her thanks, and strolled over to the orc. A tall and well built orc with a shapely face, he was not far from handsome.

Gulmok glanced at the undead elf and turned to face her as she walked forward, Athestrasz following behind her. Though obviously curious of her physical nature and the beast behind her, sensing her forsaken attributes and the stature in which she held herself, he saluted to her. She returned the gesture. "I am Blood Guard Gulmok of the Elite Kor'kron."

Marivel replied, "Priestess Marivel of the Forsaken. I wondered if you could tell me if you know anything about this," She gestured to her robe by tugging at her skirt with her free hand.

Gulmok eyed it. "I could priestess," he spoke as he turned his eyes to the sky. He brandished a large sword as he began to walk forward. "But we have more pressing matters!" At this he began to shout orders to leave the work of the wall and take up arms.

Readying her staff, Marivel turned to see what the orcs began to run towards. Not many yards away a large swarm of demons began to come towards them. More impending was the warlock in it, who were channeling summons. The air began to crackle with energy as it flowed hotly around them and burned their throats and lungs with each breath. Suddenly an orc cried out , "Infernals!"

Marivel's eyes turned to the sky straight above her. Inernals were being summoned and raining down all around the wall. As the demon abover her plumeted down, she barely dodged into a somersault roll to get away which she smoothly transitioned out of to face the demon.

Without any orders, she began to fight with the Kor'kron elites to battle these waves of demons. As she channeled holy magic into the infernal that began to attack her, she glanced back at the mass of demons coming towards them from the south. Taking a quicker glace at the amount of orcs defending the small encampment, she already knew the fate of this battle, and it was grim.

"You must retreat!" She yelled to Gulmok as she barely parried a swipe from the massive arm of the infernal, retaliating with a smite of holy magic.

"We cannot lose the stronghold!" He shouted back as he finished off another infernal and ran to defend an allied warlock who was trying to banish them out of existence.

Marivel knew it was hopeless if the Warlocks and Felguards and Shivarra did not turn away and they seemed to have no such plans. As the infernal she was currently fighting swipped at her, she jumped back, then only narrowly dodging a second from behind. She glanced to Athestrasz but he was already fighting some of his own. She waited for the first to swing mindlessly at her again, and rolled between his legs. Turning back, she flung her hand out and savagely called down holy fire form the sky. It burned through the fel fire that flowed in the infernals and destroyed them.

She turned to the orcs fighting around her, and taking her staff in her hands, raised it and her face to the sky, and shouted a prayer of healing, to bind the wounds of those around her. Though she saved some of her newly found allies, the attention of their would be killers was turned to her. She began to run, in an attempt to give them time to escape. She yelled back, "Get your men out of here! You cannot win against these demons!" When she did not hear the order to retreat she yelled again, magically amplifying her voice back to them, "Lose the battle but win the war! Come back and retake the stronghold when it won't be a useless slaughter!"

Thankfully she heard the retreat sound then. She threw a hand signal to Athestrasz to help the wounded flee that left no room for argument. As the infernals began to close in upon her, she was nearing the warlocks and the horde behind them. She let out a terrible scream heavily charged with shadow magic, permeating their minds and sending them fleeing in fear. As their concentration broke, the infernals began to struggle against the enslavement that was spelled upon them. The spells began to break and the infernals began to turn upon their previous masters.

Marivel turned her head to face the scene behind her and grinned at the chaos she had caused. She whirled back around to face the other demons not affected by the scream who continued to advance upon her. She thought quickly, her mind racing for a strategy. Her mind decided her best course of action and a smile painted across her face. She knew this may very well be her last stand.

All at once she raised her staff in her right hand and slammed it down upon the ground in front of her. Immediately a holy shield was erected all around her. Forcing all from her mind and clearing it as she had learned to do so long ago, she began the breath slowly, deeply. Soon the only sound she heard in her ears was her own breath, her heart beat, and the soft hum of magic around her. Her lips began to move, her breath escaping softly, whispering a complicated incantation. As she continued her words grew louder, and the demons grew closer.

Those who were not battling the ever increasing flow of uncontrolled infernals began to attack the priestess's shield with both magic and weapons but her concentration was sound. As they continued to attempt to break through the shield, the holy magic the made the barrier began to lash back and hurt those who attacked it. The holy magic stung the demons, searing their skin as it snaked out to attack them. Marivel continued her incantation completely unaware of it, her voice steadily growing louder.

Soon she was yelling loud enough for all around her to hear. Finally she yelled a final line, and her eyes flew open. They were alight with holy fire and she seemed possessed with power. She raised her staff again in both hands above her head, shattering the shield into the attackers around her. As she held her staff in the sky, clouds began to form in the already darkened air. Light began to flash, brighter than lightning. The demons began to lose their resolve and were shaken into fear.

Then came Marivel's response to the infernals that had rained down. Holy fire, white molten rock, and lightning infused with holy energies began to rain down all around her. It afflicted all those around her, burning them and forcing the gurgling dying cries out. The fury burned in her eyes as she watched the massive slaughter. She held the spell as long as she could, the demon clothing she wore increasing his magic and sustaining ability ten fold.

Finally, it became too much, and as the fire began to burn out in her eyes, the holy storm began to slow. At last she fell to her knees gasping for air. All around her the ground was scorched and littered with bodies of demons, their blood tainting the ground further. Her body shuddered violently at the amount of power she'd put forth and protested her actions by tightening muscles all over her while producing aches that would no doubt grow into awful cramping pains the next day if she did not find a healer.

She sat for a moment trying her best to calm her body, using small amounts of magic to regain her strength, careful not to over burden the spirit inside of her which all her magic relied upon. As she dragged up her arm from where it hung at the side of her body, she found she had to force so much energy to do so she broke out in a sweat. She had used a tremendous amount of her life force and she knew it was only possible due to the demon's clothing.

She her knees buckled at threatened to give out under her weight, she dragged herself up to a poor excuse for a stand with the help of her staff. She rose her head just in time to see a bolt of shadow magic hit her square in the chest, knocking her backwards to the ground, her staff clattering away. Involuntarily, she cried out in pain as the blow shook through her body. It had been a Shivarra demon, the six armed females that served as priests to demon forces. Marivel used all the strength she had to get up as fast as possible, which still took her too much time as her muscles began to give out.

When she managed to reach a position on her knees, the Shivarra and two others like her as well as two male felguards were upon her. Her face showed all the grimace of the pain her body felt but inside her mind was calculating. She knew that they would kill her in a few moments, but she would not let that happen. She could not.

One of the felguards began to advance upon her, taking the 5 steps between them faster than the others. He came to her, and as he raised his sword high she hung her head down in a sign of submission to death. It came down with lightning quickness, and Marivel just narrowly avoided it, hearing the blade whizz past her ear.

Marivel had rolled to the side, more flinging her body away in a tumble than a perfected side roll. But as she did roll, she slid her arms out of her back pack and reached in the moment she came to a stop. She whipped out a potion bottle and pulling the stopped out with her teeth, and drank its contents within the time it too the felguard to take his sword up again.

Marivel wasted do time. She threw up the strongest shield she could manage at that time around her, and flipped up onto her feet. She threw her hands out at the felguard who had meant to kill her and a creature made from part of her own soul began to materialize from the shadow he created. It wrapped itself around the felguard, draining its life and energy, and transferring it to it's creator.

The felguard tried to attack it as did it's comrade, but to no avail. The creature of shadow slithered around the felguard dodging the attacks as if it were attached to his very skin. As the creature sucked the demon dry of all his life force, killing it in the process, and began to attack the other, one of the Shivarra, the one who seemed to Marivel to be the leader of this group, attacked the creature with a strong force of demonic shadow magic, and its form melted back into the shadows as if it had never existed.

Marivel turned and used the newly gained energy to assault the other felguard in his weakened state and spoke a word of death to him, infusing it with a smite of holy magic. The combination of light and dark magic were enough to finish this one off as well. She turned to the three Shivarra and felt a twinge of fear.

They were great priestesses. Marivel knew she had out done herself. In times before, odd sways of luck had helped her avoid a second death many times. But now it seemed that luck had finally deserted her, and she faced death in these three females.

As she fell into a defensive stance and began to back away to where her staff had been flung, one of the demons abruptly stopped and spoke something to the greater one. She contemplated what the lesser had spoken, then eyeing Marivel, let out a cackle as rich and loud as it was terrible and evil, causing a shiver to creep up Marivel's spine.

Marivel backed over her staff and knelt down to pick it up, her eyes never leaving the trio. She waited there and watched them closely, hearing only her breath and the ambient sounds of a land torn by fire. Then to her absolute surprise, they turned their backs to her and began to walk away. Marivel's face was struck with confusion as the demons who had a very strong upper hand simply walked off. She slowly lowered her staff to the ground and watched them walk away. Her eyes did not leave their targets before she was completely certain they weren't coming back.

Beginning to turn around, she opened her mouth to take a breath to yell Athestrasz's name but it never came. Her stomach suddenly felt tight and nauseous as her brain registered an intense pain in her back. Then a pain came to the left side of her face, against her ear and cheek. Her vision blurred and her mind went numb from the hurt. She struggled in a futile attempt to regain control, but everything went black.


	10. A Starving Refusal

The first sensation Marivel experienced was sound filling her long ears. The sounds slowly became discernible, and she guessed they were voices. They sounded very muffled, as if she were covering her ears tightly while underwater. As they gradually grew louder though, she began to feel dull aches in various parts of her body.

With the euphoria of sleep slowly slipping away, the aches were forming sharp pains in her head and back as well as spreading to her stomach, neck, shoulders, and left hip. The talking was growing steadily clearer, but the pain also continued to get worse. When she turned her head from the floor to look towards the voices, it was then she realized she was both bound and blind folded.

Panic struck her. Her mind now registered for the first time that the soft voices were in a demon tongue. Her breath caught in her lungs and her stomach lurched. She had been captured. She was a prisoner. She was probably going to die. Why wasn't she dead yet?

She shuddered and tensed at the thought, causing a new wave of pain to rush from her jaw, just below her ear. It grew stronger and stronger, and was suddenly unbearable. The voices quieted. Then, dying away completely, Marivel passed out.

* * *

The next time Marivel awoke only the distant sound of dripping water greeted her ears as she strained to listen. The pain in her body had lessened a good deal, but she found stiffness had replaced it when she attempted to move. A tick rope was cutting into her wrists. It tied them behind her back in a fashion that caused her forearms to lie beneath her shoulder blades. Her legs were bent at the knees with more rope connecting her ankles together and to her thighs as well. Her joints ached badly, desperate to be stretched and rubbed. Her lower legs were going numb from the lack of circulation.

Her inability to see was a bit frightening, but she forced herself to remain calm and attempted to use her magic to release her bindings. The rope, to her complete disappointment, was spelled and tightened its grip on her the moment she tried. She barely managed to stifle the cry of pain that rose in her throat as the rope on her wrists pulled her chest and shoulders taught by her arms, and the rope around her legs dug only deeper, sending lightning bolts of pain through them. She felt her eyes sting with involuntary tears.

She could no longer hear the water for her breath had grown heavy. She willed herself to calm down, to breathe deeply and slowly. As she did this, her tight muscles just barely responded,but it was enough to relieve some tension. Another carefully cut sigh released more tension from her chest and she lowered her breath more. Then, she began to think.

Recalling what had happened moments before she blacked out, she could only assume that she had been taken hostage. Fogged memories of voices speaking in demonic tongue sometime in the past day (she suspected) suggested accurately that her captors were the demons she'd fought. Of course that would be why the priestesses had let her go so easily. She scolded herself inwardly for letting her guard down, but then, how could anyone have known. She had not felt someone coming towards her, she felt no other presence near. It was truly someone well trained who had knocked her out.

Little of that mattered now though. All that did was the fact that they had for some reason taken her hostage instead of killing her, and more importantly she needed to escape. She knew she would not be kept alone forever, and surely someone would eventually be back to feed her, interrogate her, torture her, or some other possible act that was racing through her mind. When they did, she would make her mind up what to do. For now, all she could do was wait.

And she hated waiting.

* * *

The constant dripping was becoming maddening. At times she thought she had heard a new sound begin to mingle with it, but it always seemed that her imagination was tricking her. However, about two hours after she had woken up, she thought she heard distant footsteps. At first they were so quiet she had to strain to hear them. But her ears proved correct as the steps, seemingly only one person, became clearly discernible above the dripping.

Moments later she heard a door open, bringing the lone visitor into her room. Whoever was there came nearer, bent down, untied the blind from her eyes and stepped back.

As her eyes adjusted to the dim light, they came to focus on a female orc standing near the door she had come through. Marivel's sense of magic revealed that this woman was filled with fel taint. From the look of her clothes, she was a warlock.

Gesturing to Marivel's bindings she spoke, "You'll have to excuse me if I don't free you." Her voice was surprisingly high pitched and grated as if she had been shouting too much. Her face seemed apathetic and careless. "I can't really trust you not to kill me like you did so many of my comrades." As she spoke this, Marivel saw that the expression she wore was not calmness, but merely the act of hiding intense hatred. She stiffened.

"What do you want with me," Marivel asked twice, her dry mouth failing her first attempt.

The orc's eyes narrowed but her expression remained seemingly careless. "Apparently," she spoke, her tone clearly indicating she did not agree, "your abilities are quite... impressive," she spat the word out like a piece of rotten meat.

Marivel waited silently for more. When the orc realized she would not reply, she continued. "Your service is to be sworn to Lord Illidan," she spoke the name with an air of respect that Marivel would not have thought her to possess.

Marivel stared at her, unbelieving. "Illidan," she spoke on a whisper. She knew it could be none other than Illidan Stormrage, a man who was no longer a Night elf, yet not quite a demon either, or so Tyrande has called him. Marivel may be dead, but she was not as forsaken as Illidan.

Marivel still waited, but it seemed she was to give an answer before hearing the grating voice again. "And if I refuse?"

The orc's eyes glared down at her, the calm fading quickly. "We can be quite... persuasive." Marivel did not miss the unspoken words here. "And don't think for a moment that this will be an idle alliance. You will be bound to his service by forces greater than even you could ever hope to break," she grinned darkly.

Marivel sighed, trying to give the effect of apathy towards the orc's concealed threats. "No thanks," she said casually as possible despite her growing dehydration.

"I hoped you'd say that," the orc spoke, her ugly smiling curling her lips up to reveal bloodied and dirty teeth. She raised her hand towards Marivel suddenly, turned, and left Marivel alone. As she left, the spell she had cast on Marivel came into effect, and her vision faded to darkness. She was blinded.

* * *

Hours passed. She could not tell how many, but hunger pangs had come strongly and gone twice since her visitor had left. She was growing increasingly thirsty. She had heard footsteps some time before, but they hadn't come very close to where ever she was. Her lower legs were completely numb now, and her right side was cold on the roughly hewn floor. She had tried to roll herself over to her left side, but the shock on her legs was too much to bare. She had only kept from crying out by biting her lip to the point of blood shed. She did not want to give anyone who might be listening the satisfaction of her pain.

Her stomach growled like a Dire Bear. The air was sickeningly permeated with the smell of demons, sludge, and mold. She was growing a bit fidgety from the immense sensory deprevation and she felt a whisp of panic creeping up on fher. She forced it down, and retreated into meditation, a skill she had learned so long ago. Carefully she soothed her hunger pangs and forced herself to relax and drift to an uncomfortable sleep.

Over the next few hours, she woke up numerous times to hunger, thirst, pain, and to the need to find a bathroom. She forced each of these away as best she could, and used the calm of meditation to fall back to sleep.

* * *

A warm breeze caressed Marivel's cheek. Hey eyes slowly opened. They met a beautiful forest, seemingly untouched by mortal hands. The air was sweet smelling. She slowly surveyed her surroundings. She then realized, with a very relaxed quality, that there was someone else near her. She turned around and saw Theridran. He smiled to her. She smiled back.

"What are you doing here?" he spoke tenderly, his long hair spilling over his muscular shoulders.

Marivel's smile faded into a pleasant look. "I'm not sure." He walked towards her and reached to touch her hand. As he took it, Marivel noticed that it looked different. She stared for a moment and then the realization dawned on her. Her skin was no longer discolored. She looked down at herself. She was normal. She was alive!

Just as suddenly though, Theridran dropped her hand. "No," he said, all the softness of his voice had vanished. "You can't be here. You're not real."

Marivel looked at him, hurt. He began to back away from her as though she were a monster, dangerous and deadly. "Theridran... wait!" She said desperately as he continued to back away from her.

"Do not torment me anymore, nightmare!"

Marivel couldn't understand. "Theridran! It's me! It's Marivel!"

"You are not Marivel!" He spat. The wind began to grow cold, the sky darkened. Theridran seemed oblivious. "MARIVEL IS DEAD!" he shouted at her.

His words cut her. And suddenly it was true. The blood from her killing wound suddenly began to flow as the pain returned. She saw her murderers appear around her, their scattered bodies bloodied and mangled.. Her skin grew cold as she fell to her knees, clutching her injury. She looked up at Theridran and saw the he had simply turned and was walking away. Tears formed in her eyes. She tried to call after him, but only a strangled cry escaped her throat. How could he leave her to die?

* * *

The pain awoke Marivel, but it wasn't the pain of a physical wound. It was a strong pain in her chest that made it incredibly hard to breath. Sadness and grief followed her out of her hellish nightmare as tears became reality. She was beginning to wimper, when she realized she heard something new. Someone else was in the room with her. Footsteps revealed they were approaching her.

Then she felt burning hands on her legs, pushing up her robes from her ankles. Stopping at her thighs, they dispelled the rope there and released her ankles. The sudden increase in blood flow was excruciating and Marivel couldn't contain a cry of pain. A voice, another female, laughed a dark and cold cackle that seemed to make the air around her grow cold. It was then that the hands, which she could feel were literally burning her skin, passed over her eyes and restored her sight.

Her eyes instantly focused on a tall Shivan priestess. Another stood in the corner on the room near the door. Now that her vision was not only a small cone in front of her as it had been when the orc had come, she could see that the room seemed to be a holding cell. It was mostly empty except for the chains on one wall, a grated floor on the opposite, and a door on another. The priestess pulled her robes higher and pulled her under garments off. Marivel offered no objection, but simply moaned in pain from the lack of care taken with her newly sensitive legs.

She was pulled up to a stand by her hair, sending pain through her jaw again. At first when she stood on her legs, they instantly gave out and she crashed back to her knees, and would've fallen to her side had she not caught herself painfully on her elbow.

The priestess slapped her savagely across the face, sending her finally back to the floor. Then, taking her by the hair again, stood Marivel up. Her legs barely held her, but somehow, she managed to stay up. They shook and burned with the effort, but when the Shivan nodded towards the corner of the room with the grated floor, Marivel knew she'd rather use this chance to relieve herself than risk them not coming back for hours again and soiling her own robes. She crouched down, pushing her robes away as best she could without the use of her hands and took care of one of her pertinent needs.

When she'd finished, she turned back to the Shivarra. They only started at her. Then, the one at the door turned to the other and spoke something which Marivel couldn't understand. The other nodded and walked towards Marivel. Marivel held still, trying to control her instinct to fight back. The demon placed her hand roughly around her back and pushed her forward to the opposite wall. As Marivel guessed, the ropes that had spelled her wrists together were removed, and after a few more painful slaps and shoves, she was held to the wall and chained there.

Her arms were up, slightly above her head and out to the sides. Her ankles were loosely chained as well allowing her a small range of motion, but her arms did not give way enough to sit down, only to crouch a bit. After the demons seemed pleased with her, the blinded her again and left. Marivel sighed heavily. Her under garments still lay somewhere on the floor, discarded. The wall and chains were damp and the smell in the air was as nauseating as ever. Her stomach cramped from hunger. Her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth in thirst. It would be hours before she could sleep again and her legs were still shaking in an effort to hold up her weight. It surely seemed that torture was the price of her refusal of service.

* * *

Marivel was past fear or worry or anxiety and, to her surprise, had moved on to being downright pissed. Once again, she'd been waiting for the better part of a day with not a single sign that she wasn't alone in the world. The constant dripping was only fanning the flames of her irritability. Starving hungry and incredibly thirsty, her mind kept settling on Talbuk Steaks, Warp Burgers covered in Special Cenarion Sauce, Darnassian Kimchi Pies, and her favorite Nightfin Soup. The lack of these was wearing away her patience and she could feel herself growing angry at her captors. Deep in her mind she knew anger would sabotage her defenses, but starvation and dehydration left little room to think logically.

As if her stomach and parched mouth weren't enough, her wrists ached from her weight pulling on them and her legs from being spread and standing in this position. She had, of course, tried to use her magic to free herself but just as the ropes had, the chains pulled tighter which forced her wrists and ankles further apart. Her thighs were burning horrible and shaking. She had resorted to holding her weight up by her wrists for a few seconds at a time to relieve her legs, but the shackles were digging in so harshly that her wrists were completely raw.

She passed the time by thinking over the past few days, her old life, her family, and childhood memories. On more than one occasion a few tears streaked from her shining eyes and glinted in the light provided by the single torch in the room. She'd never had this much forced thinking time before. It was somewhat like a cleaning and adjustment of all the stresses that had piled up over the past few years.

She chuckled hoarsely to herself. 'What a shame to finally look over these things when I'm going to die,' she thought. Her thoughts left the past and focused on the present. She would not allow herself to become a servant of Illidan, her very life in his hands. But what would happen if she did keep refusing? Were they going to allow her to starve to death? They couldn't completely force her to do it. She knew the type of spell they intended to use, and luckily, giving someone charge over your life did not work unless you were willing. But how far would the torture go until they gave up? Was she really going to die here?

She shook her head of these thoughts and forced herself to wander elsewhere in her mind. Her thoughts focused back to a time when she was only 10 years old, incredibly young by night elf standards, and she'd first met Tyrande. Marivel's mother, Thaestrelle, had given a special vocal performance in honor of a group of sentinels who had been killed. Tyrande had thanked her personally for it afterwords and Marivel had been introduced to her. Marivel had found the high priestess to be incredibly beautiful and skilled. It was then she had decided to devote herself to the service of Elune and to become a priestess, and ultimately surpass Tyrande.

Marivel sighed sadly. As her mind focused on the many years of teachings she had gained from Tyrande, her emotions subsided to become more relaxed. Very slowly she drifted into another pained but exhausted sleep.


	11. Alchemy Labs and Torture Rooms

Acrid smoke filled the air, shades of green, red, blue, and black. The dark and damp stone room was cramped with tables, desks, chests, shelves, stools, and cages. A number of demons, orcs, and elves were strewn about the room. Some of that number were mixing various ingredients at the alchemy labs, some were administering them to the various creatures confined in the cages, and still more were scribbling furiously on sheets of paper or reading.

At one particular stained and scratched desk, a Blood Elf was carefully mixing ingredients in normal alchemist bottles. A bubbling red substance was present in each of these mixtures. A couple of the bottles cracked or shattered the moment the additives met with the liquid. Upon each reaction, the Elf would furiously write on his note pad, taking extensive notes. The monstrous pile of notes discarded to the left of his desk shown just how many different combinations he had tried. As the potions that hadn't exploded were settling, he called over a gruff looking Orc and asked him to administer them to a different humanoid.

The Orc sneered back, making his disgust at the man known, but carefully carried the bottles over to a row of cages that held humanoids who were free of the Fel taint, usually captured Alliance or Horde members. Many of them tried to resist but its was simply useless. Their noses were covered as they were forced to drink the stinging concoctions the moment their mouth opened for a breath. Others simply took it without struggle, any hope of escape or life already gone from their faces. The Elf sat in his seat with his notes close in hand, watching each of these creatures as the effects of each potion were shown.

Within an hour four of ten were dead. Two had become snarling creatures, all intelligence gone from their eyes. Three were showing the first affects of the normal Fel transformation. The Blood Elf's eyes were not on any of these nine though. They were on the final one. An Undead female who was seemingly unchanged. The Elf came over to her. When she did not look up, he tapped her cage.

Startled, she looked up as if first realizing she wasn't alone. "How do you feel," he asked.

She simply put her hand to her head. "My head feels like its going to explode." The Elf scribbled. "And..." she began suddenly. He paused and looked up. "I'm warm. Really warm." The Elf looked over the very small file that was written about prisoner number 48. An Undead, originally Human, Mage. Her specialty was fire. Over the next six hours, his eyes did not leave her except to write more and take a sip of wine. His barely legible notes revealed that as time went by, her temperature grew warmer and warmer and her body began to show numerous signs of intense stress: increased pulse rate, various aches and pains, hunger, dehydration, drowsiness, and lightheadedness. It seemed her body eventually could no longer accommodate these intense changes and, despite the intense magical inhibitions that were placed on them, the fire magic that was housed within her grew incredibly strong and consumed her body. The elf watched this with a simply scientific eye.

He returned to his desk and ordered that more samples be taken from the springs on Azeroth as well as a specific line of test subjects. The female Elf who had worked along side him for months noticed for the first time, he was smiling.

* * *

Day three, she thought. Marivel had woken up a few minutes prior. Her wrists were aching horribly as her legs had stopped supporting her weight sometime while she slept. Despite their rest though, the intense dehydration and starvation left her with little energy to lift the weight from her wrists.

She had attempted to lift back onto her legs, but her inner thighs began to spasm horribly and simply could not support her anymore. Slowly, she began to twist her hands, breaking raw skin in the cuffs. After a few pauses of agony, she managed to position her wrists on an angle so that she could place her hands on the chains that connected herself to the wall. Carefully, she shifted her weight so she was just barely pulling herself up by her arms. It worked. The weight was off her wrists and her legs, but she wasn't sure how long she could keep this up for. She was already badly weakened and was in no condition to hang by her arms for long.

She waited.

* * *

It was nearing evening once again, and Marivel's wrists were back to holding the entire weight of her body. Her head was bowed and her oiled hair clung weakly to her face. It was simply insane how quickly your energy vanished when you had no water in your body. Her hunger had all but vanished now and her only thought was for water.

The door opened. The lack of knowledge of their approach caused her to distantly realize her senses were badly weakened. The footfalls that now approached her seemed heavier than the previous ones, but she couldn't be sure. She dimly felt the presence of her visitor come near her and heard them kneel. The hands that touched her leg were rough, calloused. There was no mistaking that the hands were of a Warrior, probably an Orc Warrior from the size and basic shape. She felt him shifting the shackle upon her leg. For one moment fear rose up in her that he might tighten it. But her fears were replaced by a wave of thankfulness as he took it off.

Her left leg went limp and her weight pulled harder on her wrists. As the orcs hands suddenly appeared on her other ankle she began to stand up on her left leg. It was difficult, but slowly, she forced herself to put weight on it.

The reduction of weight and pressure on her wrists was one of the most welcome things she had ever experienced. A few moments later she had her right leg supporting her as well. Her breathing was slightly heavy due to effort and excitement, but she had a slight smile on her face.

"Thank you," she whispered, barely audible. As a response the Orc gently stroked her ankle. She expected him to stand, to leave, or perhaps to replace the chains, but he didn't. He stayed there, kneeling by her, his hand gently caressing the outside of her right ankle with his left hand. Her ankles were sore, but he was gentle enough that it caused little discomfort. Slowly though, the range that he touched grew. Her gratitude was fading into anxiety. Her apprehension was confirmed as his trailing fingers were beginning to grace over her knee, pulling the skirt of her robe with it.

She lifted her head on reflex to look at him despite the fact of still being blind. She shifted uncomfortably, but he moved to keep along with her. His hand was growing dangerously bold as it traced up the outside of her leg sending shivers of icey fear throughout her. Her robes fell over his arm as his hand made its way fully underneath them and groped up to her hip. She cringed and whimpered, trying to shift away. She froze as he began to stand up, her fear rising with him.

Leaving his hand where it was on her bare hip he stood before her and pushed her left shoulder into the wall to stop her from moving. A few small tears she didn't know she still had left slowly seeped from her tightlyclosed eyes. His hand was reaching around to her back side and caressing, increasing its roughness with every touch. She turned away from where she knew his head was, trying to escape the stench of his breath. His hand again was tracing a constant path, slowly getting closer to the insides of her thighs. Her mind was screaming no, but there was no way she saw that she could defend herself. Her magic was too weak and inhibited even if it wasn't weakened. But...

She tensed herself. She waited until his hand found its way from her hip to her ass again and jumped as much as she could. It was more of a half-jump half-pull as she lifted herself by her screaming wrists and forced her right knee as hard as possible into the groin of this Warrior. Though it wasn't as hard as she had hoped for, she felt harsh impact. She thanked Elune that he wasn't fully armored.

The Orc let out a cry of surprise and pain and then a roar of anger. She knew in a moment he would recover, but at least she wasn't letting him do this quietly.

Of course, she was right. A few minutes, after a string of orcish curses, he shoved her hard against the wall, hard enough to snap her head into it, pinpricks of light forming over her darkened vision. He then hit her across the face, creating a new bruise where the old one had been around her jaw. She dazedly noticed that he was yanking her skirt up again, but the sound was all wrong. It sounded like a door creaking.

The Orc froze with her skirt up on her thighs. Then a shrill laugh broke out from Marivel's left. The Shivara, she thought slowly, the blow to her head still dazing her. She heard the demon's voice say something and the Orc grunted back, obviously unhappy. Marivel stood their frozen, a small trickle of blood beginning to run down the back of her neck. The Orc was hesitating in front of the Shivara. In her mind, Marivel begged that he wouldn't keep going.

But he just stood there. Silence ensued. Finally, the Shivara spoke again, demonic tongue that Marivel wished so much that she knew. Despite not understanding the words, she heard no reprimand quality in it. Her heart sank. Suddenly, the Orc threw her skirt back to where it was and walked swiftly out of the room. The Shivara's voice followed him with the tone of mocking. The door creaked and the slammed to a shut. Marivel listened.

She was alone. She stood there, suddenly realizing she was shaking. She hung her head slowly and began to sob a tearless cry.

For the rest of the day, Marivel was alone. She was able to achieve many more positions with her legs free but they were still terribly sore. For the first time since she had arrived here, she was incredibly thankful for the solitude.

* * *

As Marivel slept again, the alchemy lab was still running. The Elf who had been running experiments all day was very tired, but his persistence did not wane.

The blood of the Pit Lord Magtheridon was his testing ground and he believed he may have finally found a way to increase its potency, or at least the effect. He had been experimenting on it for months at the request of Kael'Thas, Prince of the Blood Elves. At last in the hot spring waters of a snowy land known as Winterspring, he hoped he had discovered the agent needed to purify the adverse Fel affects but still keep the good.

As he tested it on magic and melee users alike, he found that similar to the normal blood it seemed to increase powers by a large amount, but the blood with the Spring waters added was severely more effective. Very few of the negative changes experienced with the Fel blood were experienced as well. The subjects still seemed more prone to violence and perhaps wickedness but no other physical changes appeared. There was one very large problem though: it seemed that the powers of the individual grew so much that their bodies simply could not cope with the change. The stronger of the subjects were holding up fairly well, but like the mage their health was deteriorating. The weaker ones had been dead for hours.

He stood before his test subjects, eying them closely. Turning to one of his colleagues he spoke, "We'll see if they make it through the night," and walked out of the room to find a bed to sleep on. Exhaustion was setting in.

* * *

The door opened. Marivel was pulled out of a dazed sleep and at first, wasn't sure if she had dreamed the sound or if it was real. Then she heard footsteps. A hand was upon her face. She tensed. Fear blazed through her. Then as her blindness was removed she saw the face of the first person she'd seen. The female Orc stood before her grinning at the state Marivel was in. She grinned wider when she saw Marivel's eyes dart snake-like to the skin of water at her side.

"I heard..." she spoke in a mocking voice, "that Drek'thol came to see you." The orcs eyes gazed down Marivel's legs confirming that the Orc who had intended to rape her was indeed called Drek'thol. The skin pulled away from her teeth in an evil smile at the pained look on Marivel's face. "I also heard," she began, shifting her weight to one side, "that he intends to come to see you again sometime in the next few days."

She let out a shrill laugh as an immense look of both sadness and horror crept into Marivel's eyes. "Please..." she spoke. "Please, no."

"Oh yes! Yes he will. He's quite looking forward to it." She laughed evily to herself. "But... I think you know there is a way to get out of that." Marivel's eyes grew a bit wider then shut as her head hung down. "Is that a yes?"

"No..." She spoke softly.

The Orc's haughty demeanor faded. "What?" she asked, angry and surprised.

Marivel looked up, straight into the eyes of the Orc. With all the venom in looks and voice she could produce she shouted at her, "NO!"

The Orc glared. "Have it your way." The blind was replaced. The Orc left.

Marivel was left in fear of returning to sleep. Would he really come back... When would he come back...

"Oh, Elune," She spoke sadly. "Why..."

She wept.

* * *

The fourth day that Marivel spent in her prison was very different from the rest. She was jolted awake by several people walking into her room in the morning. She was quite sure she had only had a few hours of sleep. Her blind was not removed, but she felt at least four people take her from her wall. She was half-dragged half-pushed out of the door and taken to another room a few minutes walk away.

As she heard a door behind her slam, she was taken to an empty part of the room they now filled and the two people who were leading her forced her down to her knees. Horror was rising in her of what might happen next. Only the training that had been grained into her mind for many years kept her outwardly calm.

Her hands were again lifted straight above her head and tied together to a chain that seemed to be connected to the ceiling. As she knelt there on the floor she heard them shuffling around, talking in demonic of course. She whirled her head about trying to hear what they were doing as fear began to take her over.

A hand lifted up her hair and tied it up in a pony tail and then untied her dress so that it fell to her waist revealing the bra she wore underneath. She swore in her mind. Was this really happening...

But to her surprise they left the the dress and bra where it were. She grew slightly confused, allowing her to take control of some of her fear.

Out of nowhere she felt ice cold water pour down on her back. She jumped and gasped but stayed on her knees. The water dripped down her body, sending chills through out her. Shivering as a puddle formed around her, a second wave of water was poured down from her shoulders. She automatically dipped her chin and twisted to try and get a small lick of it, but a rough hand grabbed her hair and pulled her back before she could. Again water was poured so cold she could feel bits of ice in it.

Then, an incredible mind-numbing surge of pain struck her back as she heard the crack of a whip. Marivel screamed and rocked forward as she felt her skin split instantly and hot blood drip over her numbing skin. Another lash struck just as she had caught her breath from the scream sending her into a coughing fit. A third lash split a line from shoulder blade to shoulder blade. A fourth from just below her left shoulder blade to her right hip. Another crossed that evenly. Then another. After two more they stopped. Marivel was sobbing again but no tears came. The pain was more than she could comprehend. She could feel the blood soaking her dress and dripping down her legs with the water. She was shaking violently when she took a solid punch to the right jaw. She groaned in pain, and then took another to the left.

She had no way to prepare for the hits as she could not see anything. A swift kick to the stomach keeled her over, spreading the cuts on her back even more. She screamed again from the pain. Someone grabbed her hair again to lift her face up and slapped her savagely over and over. She could feel blood begin to drip from her cracked lips again and from her cheek. Every so often one of the torturers would conjure some spell that made the cuts in her back feel like they were burning and they would be forced open again and she would shriek in agony. Her voice quickly grew hoarse as she endured the pain, but it just kept coming. At times they would give her a few minutes of recovery, of false hope, only to begin again, laughing.

Eventually, after an hour of taking blows all over her body, they unchained her and dragged her over to a slanted table and strapped her onto it with her back down. The wood was rough and it scratched the wounds on her back horribly. She was beginning to grow dizzy now as they fastened her legs to the table. The conjuring to her right was beginning again. Some form of magic was beginning to form around her. Then all she felt was pressure. It felt like it was inside of her as well as out, making every part of her ache. A scream tried to rise up but for the compression she couldn't take in a breath. The pain was so immense it completely number her mind. And it only got worse.

The voice of the caster was deafening in her ears. She involuntarily tried to reach out with her mind and magic but she was simply too weak. Her vision, though blinded, was beginning to darken even more. She was suffocating. The pain still got worse. Her mind was screaming in agony, begging for release, begging for death, but it wouldn't come. She wouldn't pass out. The pain and pressure grew still greater. She couldn't take it.

Finally, with a sudden excruciating surge in her legs and a jarring crack, the pressure ceased. She drew a huge and sudden breath into her lungs like that of a drowner breaking the surface of the water. The pain escalated. The abrupt intake of air and the rapid rising and falling in her chest was shredding her back on the wood beneath, blood trickling from it like rain. Each movement awoke nauseating pain in her legs. Each breath brought more pain, each bit of pain brought more panic, and the more she panicked the more rapidly she breathed. She couldn't get enough air. Her lungs wouldn't work. Her body twisted and writhed under the clamps on her ankles and wrists. She tired to scream but she had no voice left. "I'm going to die! Oh Elune, I'm going to die!" her mind screeched, her unseeing eyes wide in utter terror.

Her torturers watched her in uncertainty. A nervous look was exchanged between them. Suddenly, a swift blow to Marivel's head ended her suffering.

* * *

The Alchemist knew he was close. The last of his test subjects, an incredibly strong Warrior, was nearing his end after taking a full vial of the purified blood. He was quite sure that perhaps if he could just find someone a bit stronger they might live on a very small amount. He was testing part of this theory on a few more weaker subjects by giving them a few drops of the liquid. So far it seemed he was right. He just needed someone stronger! But these stupid orcs who were supposed to be helping him were not doing their job.

"I've told you already!" the Orc female he was speaking with shouted at him, "you asked for the weakest _and_ the most powerful of our prisoners, and we gave them to you! And then _you_ killed them! We can't just march into a city and get more!"

The Elf was incredibly annoyed. He was this close to finding an answer and these incompetent orcs were impeding him! "I think you could," he said. Just as she opened her mouth to shout back a retort he cut her off, "I want you to get a message to Prince Kael'thas for me. I need to speak with him as soon as possible." His tone left no room for discussion. The Orc spit on the floor in front of him and walked out of the room to find someone to pass this message on to.


	12. Of Special Interest

Marivel did not wake up the following morning. After the savage torture she had endured, her body was forced to put itself into a meditative state as she lay in a heap of dried blood on the floor. Her mind was blank as it retreated from the outside world. She stayed like this for over a day, saving the last bit of strength she had and using it to heal her wounds as best she could.

As she lay there as still as a corpse, the alchemist, not realizing the subject he desperately sought was only a few minutes away from him, spoke to his Prince.

"My Prince," he began, bowing deeply with reverence.

"You wanted to speak with me, Taenos?" A tall and handsome Blood Elf stood before him clad in bright red armor, ornately decorated in gold, and with shining hair the color of beaten gold. His very presence demanded respect and his cold beauty was enough to draw your breathf away. Three bright Verdant Spheres floated lazily in the air above him, a small glimpse of his immense arcane magic.

Taenos bowed deeper. "I... I believe I have done it!" He gasped out in an excited whisper.

The Prince froze. His eyes quickly shifted about the chamber they were in. He noticed for the first time that they were completely alone. Even the hall outside was deserted.

He turned back to the alchemist. "You're certain?" he spoke, elation creeping into his words.

Taenos looked up and nodded quickly. "I've found a curing element that seems, if given to the right subject in a tiny amount, will have the very effect we desire!"

The Prince took in these words carefully. "The right subject?" he questioned.

Doubt spread over Taenos' face. "It needs to be someone strong... Very strong. The change is extreme and only one of elite capabilities could possibly live through it..." His voice trailed away as he saw the look on the Prince's face.

"And we have no one like that whom we can risk losing," the Prince guessed correctly, frustration now filtering in.

The alchemist's face turned down to the grimy floor. He shook his head.

The Prince sighed. "You have done well Taenos. I did not expect it to come easily. But we are closer than we ever have been..." The Elf looked up at him in wonder. The Prince stood strong. "We will find a way," he spoke, his tone breaking any doubt the man across from him had.

"Yes," He agreed. "We will."

"Was there anything else?" The Prince inquired, hopefull. Thaenos shook his head but proceeded to stretch out his hand to the Prince and gave him a vial of bubbling liquid. It was hot to the touch. Annoyed and disappointed he stared at it. "This is the blood?" he asked, more of a statement than a question. Thaenos confirmed. Sighing, the Prince turned away. "Let me know if you make any more progress," he spoke as he strode out of the room.

As he walked down the corridor lined with chambers that used to house priests and priestesses and towards the yard in front of the temple itself, he heaved a great sigh. The plan of changing the Blood of Magtheridon into a more useful property to help achieve his goals had seemed so promising. But as they researched more and more, the truth seemed to glare him right in the face: the blood was simply too poisonous to extract the good effects from the poor without killing the imbiber. It looked as though the change to the body associated with the Fel Blood was needed to endure the other changes.

His boots clicked on the stairs and through the cold stone floors, making their way towards the upper floors of the Temple. He took no notice of the patrolling Fel Orcs, Elves, and Broken. He decided he would speak to Zerevor and see if he had any thoughts on the most recent development before calling it off this fruitless research.

But to the Prince's utter and complete disappointment, Zerevor had nothing good to say on the new information.

"This Fel Blood that Illidan seems all too keen to continue using is certainly just as cursed as he is! We have tried _every single thing_ we could _possibly_ think of to cure it, and you know as well as I do that it's just as uncooperative as its creator was!" Zerevor groaned, completely exasperated.

The Princes eyes narrowed at the past tense in which he had spoke. Zerevor sighed and nodded. "Yes, 'was'. Happened just under an hour ago." He lowered his voice, "My Prince, I doubt very strongly that we would find a solution within the time we have until we make our move... Besides, with A'dal's well thought-out kill of Magtheridon, he has crippled the production of Illidan's precious Fel Orcs. You know the moment our winged friend finds out, he will put an end to our testing." He placed a hand on his counter part's shoulder. "This research is over."

The Prince sighed again, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Then we must hope that our harvested energies will be enough to complete our work before the Sha'tar see to our end." He took the vial from his pocket and stared at it, his mind turning. "It seems to be too late to strengthen our forces. With a movement on Magtheridon, The Eye will not be long after, and then here." His eyes shot up to Zerevor. "The time to move is now."

Zerevor nodded and saluted. "Selama ashal'anore!"

The Prince stood up tall and returned, "Anar'alah belore."

The clicking echoed through the blood-bathed temple halls as he made his way out of the room. Over the next few hours he must speak to those loyal to him and reveal their next move. He did not know if Illidan had any inclination where the Prince's true loyalties lay, but it did not matter anymore. It was time to prepare to make their leave from the bungling fool.

As he passed through the halls which had been dubbed the Den of Mortal Delights by the female demons residing there, he overheard a very amused Shivan priestess and an annoyed Orc exchanging some heated words.

"-isn't responding to the torture! She's practically dead! Hell, she ought to be after what we put her through, and yet she has refused everything!" The orc explained.

The Shivan replied, "I don't want to hear excuses," her sultry voice biting like acid. "Her... talents would be of great use to us. Greater than most," she spoke, eyeing the Orc with a smirk.

The Orc growled. "Why or how you ever saw power in a weakling like that I have no idea!"

"She would be trained of course, by greater trainers than she has been before..." The Priestess shook her head. "You will see. She may be weak now, but Mother has an eye for talent and that priestess has what we need." The Shivan sounded as excited as traveler earning their Epic flying mount.

The Orc rolled her eyes. She began to say something more about the possibility that the priestess might never give in, but the Elf walking by didn't hear it. He had turned the corner and the Priestess Delrissa's words had captured his thoughts. He hurried down into the bottom reaches of the Temple.

After speaking to the guard at the entrance to the sewers, he continued down through the labyrinth of passage ways and stopped outside a room near the end. He took a deep breath and slowly opened the door.

The stench of blood flooded out and mixed with the nauseating air that was already prodding at his stomach. As he stepped into the room, his Spheres cast a pale green light upon the mangled body in front of him. She was barely breathing and starvation was evident. Her robe had been fit carelessly back onto her body and bruises and cuts covered her exposed skin. The orc had not exaggerated: it was indeed a wonder she was still living and, he hoped, a testament to her strength.

He knelt down before Marivel and touched her arm. Though she did not stir, he was surprised to find her body warm with magic. He raised an eyebrow. Shahraz was right: she had talent. His thoughts glanced to the Fel Blood mixture in his pocket.

He turned his head and shouted down the hall for the guard to bring Priestess Delrissa to him. Turning back, he let a gentle stream of his own arcane magic flow into her. He did not want to overwhelm her, but a small bit of his magic would aid the healing meditation she was locked inside of.

After about ten minutes of carefully nurturing the priestess like a newborn, footsteps sounded from outside the room. The Shivan stopped in the doorway. "I see you've found our little Priestess, Prince Kael'thas?" The same respect he was shown from his own people was apparent in her voice.

"I have... What you and the orc woman spoke of..." His tone shapped his words into a question.

"Ah yes. It seems she is quite the talented elf. Slaughtered many of the greater warlocks," she spoke the words as a simple fact. "Mother wishes to bring her under our control but... a bit more resilience in her will than we had hoped, though I can't imagine the Orc is very good at convincing."

"I would think not," He replied, obviously deep in thought.

She continued without really hearing him. "There's a bit of a rumor flying around most of the world about a woman matching her basic description. It seems to be too much of a coincidence not to be the same person. Assuming she is the one in the gossip, I thought she would've been all too happy to accept the chance to increase her power..." She shrugged. "Apparently a binding service to Illidan wasn't appetizing."

"Delrissa," He spoke abruptly.

The priestess blinked as he pulled her from her rambling. "Yes?"

"I would like to try an experiment." He took his hand from the Elf's skin and turned, taking the vial from his pocket and handing it to Delrissa. "I believe we may have greater use for her than Shahraz and Illidan have. Instruct the warden to cease _strong_ torture on this woman. When she awakens, feed her and water her until she regains some of her strength. She must be kept weak though. When she is strong enough to hold down complex food, add a very small drop of this," he gestured to the liquid," to her water. Wait a day or two, and then give her another drop. Wait again and give her more. Continue until I come for her."

Delrissa looked at him curiously. "With a lot of luck," Kael'thas turned to Marivel, "we can win her over to our service without a forced binding... and she will be stronger than Shahraz ever imagined."

Delrissa grinned. "With _pleasure_, my prince."

* * *

"You are not to torture this Priestess anymore." The orc gaped at Priestess Delrissa, who was already continuing, "You will allow her to heal from her wounds and you will feed her enough to keep her living when she awakens." When the Orc protested again, Delrissa hissed. "She is no good to us dead," she snapped.

The Orc glared. The Priestess handed the vial to her. "When she has regained some of her strength, add a small drop of this to the water she drinks." She bent forward and leaned right into her face. "And I mean _small. _If I come back to find her dead, Mother Shahraz will seem like Priestess Ishanah compared to me when I find you."

The orc's gaze faltered, and she let her eyes fall. "Yes, Priestess."

Pleased enough with the Orc's reaction, Delrissa continued, "After she has regained some of her strength you may continue torture, but nothing life threatening this time. Keep it mostly psychological. Think you can handle that?" A low growl eminated from the Orc's throat at the insult. "Good. And be sure your _friend_ stays away from her," she said, speaking of Drek'thol. Delrissa turned and left without another word and made her way back to the Den. Orc headed off in the opposite direction to complain to one of her fellow warriors in the court yard.

* * *

The following day Kael'thas returned to the room that Marivel lay in. Again he knelt at her side and allowed his magic to be absorbed into her and again she surprised him. Her body had taken his Arcane gift from the day before and made perfect use of it. He had expected to have to come back for three or four days and help her out of her coma but, with the strength he felt growing within her, he knew she would need only this administration to wake.

His fingers were gentle on her skin: he hoped she would feel it and remember. After about fifteen minutes, she stirred. He felt the healing barrier that had previously been covering her break and the shift in her body when she went from meditation to simple sleep. He drew his hand away, a small frown painting her forehead at the sudden absence of his warm magic.

He stood up and turned away. "I'll see you soon," he spoke. Walking from the room, he shut the door gently behind him.

* * *

Marivel came out of her deep sleep slowly and it would be more than a day before she woke up completely. At first, she only roused for a few seonds before she drifted away again. But as the day wore on, she began to stay awake for a few minutes at a time. When she did wake, she never could quite remember what had happened and was only vaguely aware of her shattered body. Sleep always took her back before she became too painfully aware of her current state.

The day after Kael'thas had last visited her, she at last awoke completely. Her meditation had mended her bleeding wounds as well as any serious internal damage, but it could do no more than that. The aching that showed itself as her endorphines wore off left no part of her body unplagued. The pain was mind numbing when it reached its maximum.

As her breath became ragged and moans of pain echoed in her chest, she felt her body forcing back into a welcome sleep. As she dozed off and her eyes began to shut, the orc entered the room. Marivel's onset of sleep did not heed this change and continued to pull her in. Then, she felt a bowl was raised to her lips. A warm meat flavored broth flowed over her tongue. Her stomach remembered her hunger and fought to stay awake just long enough to finish the bowl. The sweet arms of sleep at last embraced her closely and did not release her to the harsh world for many hours.

* * *

The next week was a complete blur to Marivel. She had no sense of time. She was roused only for minutes at a time, just long enough to drink or eat something simple or for the pain to push her back into sleep.

Now, eight days after her first awakening, she had strengthened enough stay awake for several hours. She had been tied tightly to the type of table she had been tortured on. The binds that were all along her arms, core, and legs did not allow for any movement except the lifting of her head. She kept blood flowing as best she could by tensing her various muscle groups, but even that small task was exhausting after the torture she had endured. Judging by the pain that using her muscles brought her body, she knew her legs were badly injured and that her ribs were probably cracked, possibly broken. The rest of her cuts and bruises were healing slowly.

That evening, when the Orc came to see her as she did daily, she brought soup instead of the simple broth. Small scraps of meat were present as well as a couple pieces of vegetables. Marivel decided it was possibly the most delicious thing she had ever tasted. She took it in as quickly as the orc, who tipped the bowl into her mouth, would allow her. Her head fell back after she had finished and closed her eyes preparing for the sleep that often followed her meals. As the Orc walked away, she paused. On a whim, she slapped her hand down on Marivel's right leg.

A blood curdling scream burst forth from Marivel's mouth. The strength of it would have surprised her if the pain hadn't completely overtaken every thought in her mind. Tears stung her eyes as her scream faded. The food she had just eaten only stayed in her stomach by the sheer will and need formed from starvation. As she began to whimper from the pain, the Orc's laughter echoed from the hall outside.

* * *

The Orc began to visit her a few times a day. Each time, the joy of more food was short lived by some new lashing and nearly every time, her food came back up from the nauseating pain. As she came to expect the pain and grew stronger, she learned to deal with the pain better and keep her food down. Her hatred never stopped growing for a second though.

On the day that she was moved to completely solid food, the water she drank burned her throat. Instantly the thought that it was poisoned flew to her mind and spit her first sip out. She received a slap in the face for her deed. When she refused to drink, the Orc left.

She did not return the rest of the day, nor the next day, nor the day after. Marivel became an acquaintance of hunger and thirst again. Her fears rose and she grew panicked. Crippling thoughts that she would not be fed again ricocheted through her skull. The dread that she would be left alone to die grew fat from feeding on her anxieties. And then there was the horror that she wouldn't be left alone, that the torture or the male Orc would return to claim her.

Finally, she heard the unmistakable footsteps of the Orc. Her mouth watered in anticipation, hunger and thirst at last drowning all other unease. The door opened. More footsteps. Marivel raised her head instinctively. A chuckle.

A cup of spiced wine was lifted to her lips. Marivel was sure the poison had to be in it, but her thirst betrayed her. She drank deeply, savoring the euphoria it gave her. After she had finished, she was fed roasted meat and a piece of bruised fruit. A sudden jab in the ribs caused her to choke, coughing up most of the fruit. Her stomach and throat greedily kept the rest down. Tears stung her closed eyes as the Orc left and as her body digested the food, she drifted to sleep.

* * *

Marivel dreamed of fire that night. Trapped in her cell, it consumed the building where she was held. She couldn't move, couldn't escape. The fire burned the Orc, the Shivara, her torturers, and then it burned her. Her skin blistered. Her hair smoldered. Her tears were rivers of flame. Bowls of flame danced around her, each one meeting her lips and forcing their conflagrant contents down her throat.

The dream lasted for days. The fever that the cleansed Fel Blood had brought trapped her inside of an endless mirage. Completely unaware of the events taking place around her, the Orc easily continued pouring the tainted water through her lips each day.

On the sixth day of her fever, Kael'thas appeared back at the Black Temple. Helped by the loyal Delrissa, he had been taken from The Eye, his base of operations. A band of warriors who had been sent by A'dal had attacked and defeated him, or so they thought. They left The Eye, assuming him dead. They returned to A'dal with the news of their victory.

The celebration was short lived however. Kael'thas rose again by the great skills of Delrissa and through his Arcane magic, a warning descended upon the city of Shattrath.

"Your monkeys failed to finish the job, Naaru! Beaten but alive... You wasted many lives today! All for what? Trinkets? You are too late. The preparations have already begun. Soon the master will make his return. And there is nothing you or that fool, Illidan, can do to stop me! You have both served me in your own right - unwittingly. Lay down your arms and succumb to the might of Kil'jaden!"

Now, as he entered the Black Temple, he knew he must set his plans into motion quickly. Staying only for a few moments to speak with his most trusted, he left before Illidan got wind of his betrayal.

One of the few he instructed personally, Delrissa made her way to the Sewers. She instructed Marivel's caretaker to finish the administration of the Fel Blood by giving her the rest of the vial as soon as possible. All torture was also to be stopped immediately. Reluctantly, the Orc agreed.

Two days afterwords, the fever broke. As Marivel came out of it, she felt incredibly strange. She was vaguely aware she'd ingested what she thought to be poison but her instincts told her something else was amiss. Her insides were still too warm and her ears were buzzing. She had the bizarre feeling of her skin being too tight and that it was the only thing keeping her together. Her whole body, on top of the ever present pain, was tingling. Her muscles kept going into spasms.

Weakness and exhaustion still plagued her. A few hours after she had become aware of herself outside of her hallucinations, she unwillingly fell back into a restless sleep.


	13. Horrific Rescue

A raid of great fighters, hand picked by A'dal and clad in glowing armor, snuck through the twisting tunnels that housed the most digusting of scents many of them had ever smelled. A mixture of bile, blood, and many things to terrible to think of from several species rotted and expired into a smell that literally burned the eyes. Many of them had covered their mouths and noses with bits of cloth or spelled enchantments around them to filter the air. Others did their best not to breath except when needed. Despite the terrible odor, this was the best course of action to enter into the Black Temple unnoticed.

As they made their silent way through the corridors, away from the recently defeated High Warlord of Illidan, they now stopped around the corner of a mostly deserted hallway.

A gruff, scarred, and rather unclean looking orc was making his way down towards them. Little did he know that there were assassins hiding in the shadows a stone's throw from him. They crouched, ready to spring and silence him in the blink of an eye if he became a threat.

But to the orc's "luck", he turned down the last branching hall before the corner where the attackers hid. He spoke briefly to the orc guarding the door to the hall and was let through without hastle.

The door's guardian, however, crumpled and hit the floor with a silent thud just seven seconds after the Orc had made his way through. The raiders ran silently past the hall and into the next, their presence still kept secret.

* * *

Marivel, for what seemed to be the hundredth time, awoke from a restless sleep to the sound of her door opening. The strange sensations in her body were still present as she turned her head vaguely toward the entering visitor.

As her mind took in the footsteps entering, she tensed. They were heavier and placed farther apart than the ones she remembered hearing. Fear began to creep up her spine as she willed her thoughts to be wrong.

A hand that smelled strongly of dirt and sweat came up to her face. The magic binding was removed and for the first time in over two weeks she was allowed to see. But blindness was preferred to the site she now saw: a site which realized one of her worst fears. The female orc had made good on her threats. Standing above her abused and bound body, face half hidden in shadow, was Drek'thol.

She felt her throat tighten as she tried to swallow some of her fear. A savage grin spread across his face at her reaction. He glanced down at her legs. "No kicking back this time, eh?" A tear fell down her left cheek as he showed his cracked teeth again.

"Please..." she begged in a weak voice, knowing it would do no good. "Please, don't."

He laughed, his breath so disgusting that she retched. He began to untie her from the platform on which she lay. She held very still as the buckles were undone and the leather straps slipped from her bruised skin. As soon as her last binds were gone, she pushed herself up quickly, or tried to. Drek'thol's hand grasped around her throat and forced her back down hard enough to paint stars into her vision.

"Not this time." His hand squeezed tighter, crushing her neck. Another tear ran down her right cheek as she grimaced in the pain. After a few moments he let go. Marivel sputtered and coughed. Without warning, he grabbed her by the hair and threw her to the floor. As her legs tumbled after her, she screamed at the pain. Shaking, she struggled to her elbows and glanced down. Her legs were clearly broken. Of course that made sense now with how much it hurt every time the orc "caretaker" had hit them.

Drek'thol looked amused and nudged her legs with his foot. She cringed and moaned, trying for some prideful, and useless, reason not to scream. He chuckled. He brought his right hand to her chest and took a hand full of her dirtied and ripped clothes. With a ripping yank, he brought them down to her waist. Embarrassment burned her cheeks.

Taking her right wrist and lifted her halfway off the floor by it as if she were a rag doll. She could feel the tendons and connective tissues straining under her weight. Her eyes stayed closed against the discomfort. His eyes, on the other hand, were riveted on her, blazing with hunger. He again dropped her, only amused by her pain. He knelt over her moving her mouth near her throat, breathing in her scent deeply. She felt his tongue drag across her right collarbone. She shuddered and raised her arms to push him off.

His hand grabbed her two wrists and slammed them into the floor. "Oh, please keep trying to stop me. Just makes it more exciting..." The way he pronounced the last word made him sound vaguely like a serpent. He was already moving both her wrists to his left hand above her head, while his right groped down her arm onto her chest. She twisted feebly to escape his touch, but made no progress. He was impossibly strong and his hand more than big enough to hold her thin wrists.

His hands savagely grabbed at her breasts, the roughness only overshadowed by the thought of what he was doing. Marivel cried silently, never giving up her struggle against him but never gaining an inch either. She begged him multiple times to stop, but it only seemed to make him worse and thus she gave up eventually. Multiple times she had tried to use her legs as leverage against him only to painfully remember the bones were cracked and shattered.

His hand began to trail down her stomach suddenly. Her eyes closed tightly with horror, her teeth ground together. She felt his hand begin to slide into the collar of her robes which was now just over her hips. The calloused skin of his hands as he traced along the smooth skin over her pelvic bone made her stomach turn sickeningly. His quickening breath echoed against the cold walls as she squirmed away from him. Pulling his hand out, he placed it on the inside of her right thigh and slid it up very slowly. Marivel's eyes went wide. She moaned her distaste. Every inch was both intolerably slow and horribly too fast. The shame burned her cheeks like a fever.

Then the coarse skin of his finger tips made contact. He stopped for just a moment. He turned his head to the door. Marivel followed his eyes. She wasn't sure he had actually heard anything; she at least couldn't hear anything over the blood pounding in her ears. A small hope crept into her mind that someone would come. Despite the digusting feeling of being seen like this, she would give that embarrassment to be freed from this.

As soon as her hope began though, it was dashed. Her attacker shrugged, and turning back to her, plunged his fingers inside of her. There was no stopping her scream this time. The pain ripped through her. Drek'thol frowned. "I hoped your body would make this easier," as he pulled his fingers out roughly, sending a shudder through her, and looked at them. They were comptetely dry. He rubbed them together. "But... I can work with this."

Still leaning over her face and holding her wrists abover her head, his middle and ring finger on his left hand again found and pushed their way back into her. The tears and screams streamed. She begged him over and over to stop, but he wouldn't. She could feel the friction tearing at her skin as he moved around inside of her. "That's more like it," he breathed into her face as she felt her own blood moisten her. She writhed.

He shoved his fingers sadistically farther inside, spreading the blood and opening the wounds more. When he was satisfied, he drew his fingers out. Leaning his side onto her stomach so she couldn't move, he untied the binding on his pants and pushed them down just enough. Bringing her wrists closer to him and moving lower he slid his hand under her left thigh. Brutally and quickly, he lifted it. The pain took her breath away. He grinned in pleasure as he positioned himself over her. He kelt there for a moment, hold still tight on her wrists. "Look at me," he said. She didn't comply. Grabbing her hair in the same hand that held her wrists, he lifted her head. "Look!" He shouted and shook her head.

When she refused again, he pushed her leg farther. Another scream. Persuaded by the pain, she opened her eyes. Tears completely clouded her vision and Drek'tol was just a dark shadow. But as her body shook from terror and the tears poured out, she did not see only Drek'thol kneeling over her, ready to take what he came for, but another man standing behind him. Her eyes went wide and as she focused the man. The words "cold beauty" formed distantly in her mind.

Drek'thol noticed the change in her eyes. Suddenly, he too was aware of someone behind him. He whirled around, "Get the hell out of-" He stopped when his eyes met the intruder's. "You..."

The stranger walked forward, grabbed Drek'thol by the throat. In a voice so cold it could have frozen the very air, he spoke. "Stay away from her." The stranger then lifted and threw Drek'thol into the wall with absolute ease. He hit with a bone cracking clamor. As the Orc began to stand up, he opened his mouth in protest but never got a single word out.

The man pointed his hand towards him and a phoenix formed, soaring towards the Drek'thol and consuming him, screaming, in fire.

Marivel was shaking with shock. When her rescuer turned to her, she flinched and scooted back against the table she had been laying on. He didn't seem to notice or at least he didn't react. He gazed over her with sad eyes. "I'm sorry," he spoke in a truely apologetic voice. She stared at him, confused.

Shouting issued from somewhere far away and he glanced towards the door. "We must leave immediately. The temple is under siege. Come," he motioned for her to follow.

When she didn't stand, he looked back to her, questioning. She waited from him to say or do something, petrified.

Finally, when it seemed he would do nothing until she spoke, she managed to mumble, "I can't." He frowned. "My legs," She gestured, still shaking and confused.

He didn't seem to be surprised nor annoyed as she expected. He walked back to her, his eyes the whole time politely averted from her near naked from. He took off his sweeping cloak and placed it on her, careful not to injur her further. She still flinched at his touch as he knelt down and picked her up as gently as a mother would pick up a babe.

She was lighter than he expected which was a disappointment, but no matter. Marivel glanced at the charred ruin of Drek'thol and shuddered. She turned her face into her rescuer's shoulder, her hair tickling his elven ears. Tears of confusion, pain, and relief streamed down her face as he brought her away from the dungeon that had held her so long.

The man carried her through many corridors and rooms, hiding occasionally to let various warriors pass without giving their location away. He moved swiftly through the dark halls. It was only in the nearly complete darkness that she noticed the green light. She looked up at the orbs floating about him. Suddenly, she realized.

Turning her head to her rescuer she spoke barely audibly, "P-Prince Kael'thas?" He looked down at her, seeing the question in her eyes.

"Later," he spoke simply. She obeyed, staying silent through their trek through the halls. Twice they ran into a party of Alliance members and once a party of Horde, both who attempted to kill them, but Kael'thas dispatched of them without ever letting go of Marivel. The savagery with which her old allies fought them surprised Marivel. The Alliance were expected to look down on her, but the Horde as well? She had pleaded for them to stop, but it seemed she was no different than Illidan's forces to them now...

Within the hour they had left the looming Temple. Even out in the clouded air she breathed easier than in there. They traveled some ways away to a terrace on the side of a mountain Kael'thas had simply told her was called "Crimson Watch."

There were many blood elves here, a few demons, but thankfully no orcs.

"Zerevor?" Marivel heard the Prince question. She looked about the faces to see whom he was speaking to. A female blood elf looked deeply grieved and shook her head. Had she not been in his arms at the time she would not have noticed him tense. His head dipped a little in thought. "We must go on as the Master has planned." He paused. "The Felbloods?" he questioned.

The woman who had spoken before nodded this time. "They are a success and ready to proceed." She glanced into Marivel's eyes. "She is the _other_?" Marivel wasn't sure why the woman said the word in the tone she did, but she couldn't catch the meaning. Whatever she had meant though, Kael'thas nodded.

"Send them ahead of me." A chill went down his spine. "We're so close," he whispered, excitement radiating from his trembling hands. The closest elves grinned and nodded. A few of them spoke Thalassian words of loyalty and victory. Kael'thas smiled in return. Nodding to some mages gathered in a circle to his left, they began channeling a portal.

As the elves around him either left down the mountain, into the air on flying creatures, or entered into the portal, the Prince turned back to look at the Temple they had come from. Clearly visible smoke was pouring into the already tainted air from it and the terraces north and south of it. He looked back into Marivel's confused face. "Rest," he asked of her, stern but somehow gentle. The voice echoed magically into her mind and her body obeyed. She slipped into a dreamless sleep.

* * *

Theridan stood outside the darkened gates and did his best to wipe the demon blood off his blades. He watched as one of the last groups of raiders left the Temple. A familiar Undead Mage caught his eye and seperated from the group she walked with to speak to the Rogue. "Anastasia," he greeted her.

The Mage noded, her armor twinkling even in the dreary air. "You did well in there, Theridan. I'm really glad we had you against Illidan. You practically took him by yourself!" She smiled a rare smile.

Theridan nodded his thanks. "Hardly, but I was glad to help. My sister sends her reguards."

"Give her mine if you see her before me," she asked of him and began to turn."

"Uhm," he suddenly began. She stopped and turned back. "The prisoners..." Her brow furrowed in confusion. "You found some I assume?"

She nodded again. "No undead if you were searching from someone in particular. A handfull of humans, orcs, draenei, and blood elves. Mostly from the sourrounding towns and cities."

"No undead? You're totally sure? Or night elves?"

She gave him a strange look at his final question but shook her head. "Was there someone you were hoping to find?"

He thought for a moment. "No, thank you." He placed his hand on her shoulder, her frost armor chilling his hand.

She reluctantly nodded as he turned away from her and headed towards the rest of the raiders. They had taken on the hunt of any of Illidan's forces that were fleeing the temple and he was anxious to join them. He did not look back as he left and did not spare another thought to the Elf he had hoped to find- not even as his blades found their way into the ribs of the very Orc who had been her caretaker.


	14. Break a Leg

The sun was warm and shining brilliantly, as it nearly always was, on the island of Quel'danas. The air smelled sweetly of incense as gentle breezes stirred the grasses, leaves, and waters. As the sun was just beginning to make slow dive towards the horizon, it peaked through the balcony of the room in which Marivel slept. Her mind was slowly coaxed into awareness by the blinding light.

She blinked and tensed, momentarily having no memory of where she was or how she had come to be in this room of vibrant colors. Her squinted eyes shot towards the door the next moment when she became aware of another's presence. A man and a woman, both marked Blood Elves by their long but upwards pointing ears and delicate, pale skin, stood in a hall outside the doorway. The woman turned just after Marivel did. She meet her eyes and smiled. It was a genuinely kind smile that slightly confused her. The man followed her gaze and smiled as well. It held no malice but little of the care the woman had radiated. They bid each other farewell from an unfinished conversation and the woman walked inside the room, shutting the door on her way in with a lazy flick of her hand.

Marivel began to stand up, or tried to, but she was quickly reminded of the condition of her broken legs. The woman, her face suddenly full of concern, rushed forward to aid Marivel as she cringed. "Please," she spoke in a musical voice, "don't get up! I haven't had time to heal your legs yet."

Marivel's eyes, despite being locked on the woman's every move, shifted quickly around the room. The woman spoke again. "My name is Le'aya and you are in the Temple surrounding the Sunwell, specifically the Magister's Terrace. You were brought here last night by Prince Kael'thas." Marivel noticed she breathed his name with affection. "I am a priestess like you and am here to aid you in healing."

Marivel shifted slightly, her wariness and mistrust evident. Le'aya shrugged and smiled, not at all bothered. "May I ask your name?"

At first she didn't answer. She did not sense any ill in the woman's words, but there was little reason to trust this woman, especially if she was allied with the insane Kael'thas. "Marivel," she answered shortly.

"A grand pleasure to meet you Marivel." Le'aya nodded. "I would like to begin healing you now, if that's alright?" Marivel frowned. The idea of trusting this woman to heal her, or rather letting her cast any sort of magic on her, was not at all appealing. She contemplated. If she refused, would they force her? They weren't torturing her, yet, and if they intended to, there was little she could do to stop it.

Deciding she didn't have much of a choice, Marivel reluctantly sighed and nodded. The priestess knelt at her legs, delicately pulled the new robes that donned Marivel's body up to her thighs, surprising Marivel with her gentleness. She ran her finger tips along her legs. The touch reminded Marivel that the tingling sensations and heat in her skin had not lessened since she had been poisoned. The priestess closed her eyes and began to work silently, skillfully feeling along her bones, causing no pain. After watching Le'aya do nothing but pre-healing process, Marivel chose to take this moment to judge her surroundings better.

She had been lain on a bed in the classic Blood Elf round style with sheer and sparkling hangings held up by magic. The mattress and pillows were as soft as owl feathers, perhaps also magically perfect. The air was cool and crisp, off the ocean perhaps, but more than anything it was clean and smelled _good_! She breathed in deeply, the sweetness of the incense melting her reluctant tension away. As she relaxed, she looked down at her body. She had been dressed in a simple but lovely dress. Technically, it was two long pieces of lilac fabric that hung down her front and her back. The front rose to her neck in a halter style, connected by delicate silver threads and the back piece began at her hips. Several more ties of the same silver threads wrapped around her bare back kept the fabric form-fitting from her neck to her hips. The skirt flowed loosely from there on.

The room was fairly large, as was the bed she was on. She could have slept very comfortably with another two people on either side. A desk with an arcane orb lamp, a glass table with a hanging incense burner attached to the ceiling above, and two dressers on either sides of the doors were the other pieces of furniture. Paintings and fabric works of art decorated the golden walls. Everything was incredibly ornate and well decorated using a wide variety of colors, especially that of red and gold. She glanced back at the balcony. Only sheer hangings of exotic colors marked the outside from the indoors. Blinking her eyes against the flickering sun that the wind and the hangings created, she looked back to the priestess at her feet.

After another minute, when Le'aya had finished, she lifted her hands away from Marivel's legs and looked up. "I'm afraid we need to re-break your legs..." Marivel winced and Le'aya shared her look. Marivel was a priest, and she already knew what this meant. Her legs had healed but the bones were not correctly aligned. To continue healing them at this point would obviously strengthen that misalignment, and thus, would have to be rebroken to heal correctly. "It is going to hurt- a lot," Le'aya was going on, "but if you are ready, I would like to begin now so you can begin healing as soon as possible."

Marivel's eyes trailed down to her shattered legs. She nodded once. "Go ahead," she spoke just above a whisper.

Le'aya brought her hands up again. Suddenly, as if their air around her were being charged with electricity, she felt the magic begin to radiate from Le'aya's body and then prominently from hands. Marivel's eyes widened with confusion and wonder. The only explanation for being able to feel a magical charge of this strength was that the magic must be very strong- but a force of that magnitude would more likely destroy her legs than just break the bones. Before she had any more time to react, she felt Le'aya let go of the building force of magic. The sudden pain of her breaking bones captivated her mind. She cringed, biting into her lip hard enough that she drew blood, but held in her scream.

Le'aya let out a breath and apologized suddenly. She quickly settled herself and began to heal Marivel's legs.

As she did, Marivel again felt the sensations of Le'aya's magic; it was more pronounced than she had ever felt any before. It was almost as if she could taste or smell it. Her body began to react to it. The holy magic within her beckoned to aid in the healing and the pull was strong! Even as Marivel contemplated the strangeness of everything that was happening so quickly, her hands moved of their own accord to hover over Le'aya's, aiding in the healing.

Le'aya, though incredibly surprised by the action, never faltered and continued to heal. For five minutes they held completely still, two statues on a bed. As one, their hands moved to hover over her hips, repairing the damage that Drek'thol had caused. Le'aya's sudden gasp marked the end of the healing as she drew her hands back and wiped the sweat from her brow. She thanked the sun in a ceremonious way. "And they said you were weakened," she said, smiling up at Marivel. The smile faltered to surprise from her face when she saw how completely unfatigued by the healing her patient was.

Marivel, however, looked scared and disturbed. "I don't understand," she whispered in a tight voice. "How... how did I do that? I shouldn't have that sort of endurance when I'm completely well, let alone when I'm nearly _starved_... And _your_ magic? I could feel it so... so strongly," She shivered. "What... what _is_ this?"

Le'aya, still kneeling by her side, put a hand over Marivel's and squeezed. "I think you better ask the Prince about that. You don't need to be scared though. Look at you," she gestured widely with reassuring smile. "You're incredibly strong and powerful. That's nothing to be worried over!"

Marivel, though agreeing that more power was exactly what she desired, was unconvinced that this was nothing to worry over. The new sensations were quite frightening, not to mention so strong they were quite nearly painful.

"Anyways," Le'aya continued, "you can worry over that later. First, you really need to eat something."

As if in agreement, Marivel's stomach growled. A slight darkening purple blush touched her milky white cheeks, a rare show of her Night Elf heritage. Le'aya giggled.

Cautiously, she pulled her legs off the bed and set her bare feet on the floor. The pain was completely gone. Stranger still was she felt more energized than she could ever remember being.

Le'aya nodded her head towards silver corded and bejeweled sandals near Marivel's feet. Slipping into them, she stood up. Expecting to be sore and bruised from her month in the Black Temple, she was taken completely by surprise to find her body was healed from everything but the starvation and dehydration.

She followed her healer out of the room through the doors and into the hall. As they walked down it, Marivel stopped suddenly as she caught her reflection in a hanging mirror. Her hair was matted and a mess, her body was incredibly dirty, but above all that, she barely recognized herself. Her ribs, hips, and shoulders were much too prominent, the skin taught around them. Her cheek bones were glaring and her chest was severely flattened. She stared wide eyed and horrified.

Le'aya put a hand on her shoulder. "C'mon," she urged gently, tugging her away from her reflection.

They walked through several more halls and eventually down some stairs, finally ending in a courtyard garden. Le'aya led her to a small round table with two chairs and asked her to wait there for a moment. Upon Marivel's agreement, Le'aya hurried into another door off the garden.

Marivel glanced around. There was a group of three Elves in a far corner, talking rapidly. One of them was staring at her out of the corner of his eyes. The look wasn't unfriendly, but it wasn't sweet either... simply curious. The garden itself was beautiful. Fruit trees provided clumps of shade. Flowering plants and bushes lined the walls. Large spots of soft grass were carved out by a tan cobblestone path. Dozens of windows looked down upon the garden from the surrounding towers. It reminded her desperately of Darnassus.

Marivel glanced down at herself again. She truly noticed then just how thin all of her body had become. She looked so sickly. She felt over her ribs, her hips, her wrists, her elbows, each bone, each joint. Horror filled her with each, which gave way to intense anger for those who had done this to her.

When Le'aya appeared a few minutes later from the door she had left through carrying two plates of food, Marivel wiped the look off of her face. One plate, holding much more than the other, was placed in front of Marivel. "Don't worry if you can't finish it. Just take whatever you like," she spoke as she sat down across from Marivel. She breathed deeply, relaxing in the sun and began to eat.

Marivel was of course cautious of food given to her. Poison was at the forefront of her mind, but again, if they planned to kill her or drag out information or what ever they had in mind, they were bound to do it eventually... not that she had any information that was valuable. Be the risks as they may, the chance that they were actually feeding her to aid in her recovery was too beneficial to pass up.

Though famished, it was actually difficult to start eating. Besides the fact that she hadn't been able to feed herself in so many days, her nerves were all worked up from the encounter with Le'aya's magic, the strange sensations in her body, and the new look she had acquired. She had been holding the same piece of Sun Fruit and twisting it in her hands for a good four minutes when she finally took a bite.

But that one bite was all it took. She realized that everything she had been eating in the past few weeks had been mostly rotted. Somehow in her daze she had never noticed. The taste of a perfectly ripe piece of fruit was absolutely incredible! It was better than she could have possibly remembered food tasting. She began to eat as one would expect someone mostly starved would eat.

But after only eating about a fourth of the food on her plate, she already felt full. In fact, her stomach actually hurt from eating too much. "My stomach must have really gotten smaller..." she spoke aloud, absent minded.

Le'aya nodded. "That's not surprising," she said with notes of understanding.

When Le'aya had also finished, she picked up the plates and asked Marivel to follow her. She led her into the door she had entered earlier, through a few halls, and into a large dining room. A long buffet style table ran along the far wall with two doors at the ends. Round tables, ranging from the size of the one in the garden to ones that could seat ten people, filled the rest of the room. There were a few people seated at the tables, speaking over meals. Marivel assumed, by the look of the sun and the number of people, that it was probably an hour or two before Dinner. Mostly fruit and vegetable dishes were out on the serving table with a few nearly empty trays of sandwiches as well was bowls of soup. Magic spells kept the temperatures either warm or cool, depending on the food they were cast around.

Le'aya gestured to the far end of the serving table. There were pitchers of different drinks there. As her eyes met them, Marivel realized that she was quite thirsty. She walked over to pour herself a glass of water while Le'aya brought the dishes into one of the side doors.

A few moments later, after Le'aya had returned, taken a glass of a cherry colored liquid, and Marivel had gulped down three and a half glasses of water, they walked back through the halls, through the courtyard, and back the way they had come. Marivel tried to remember the halls and rooms, but she found herself not recognizing anything.

After Le'aya led them up a spiraling staircase, they came to two sets of double wooden doors. Le'aya walked to the doors on the right and pushed one open.

Steamy air met Marivel, with scents that can be described only as clean. As she took a step into the room, her first glance was one of awe. The entire room was rounded and exquisitely beautiful. The floors were made of polished marble, designed into sparkling mosaics of the sun and the kingdom of Silvermoon. Feeling a duller hum of magic than she had previously with Le'aya, she nudged a toe forward out of her sandal to touch the floor. It was warm and tingling with magic. She turned her attention back to surveying the room. There were several bathing pools of water in the middle of the room, as well as showers styled as waterfalls along the walls to her right and left. Between the showers were glass windows, letting light pour in from the outside. The glass was clear, the water not sticking to it, and showed a beautiful view of the ocean on one side and the island on the courtyard on the other. The walls to the front of her were alternating mirrors with windows, showing the coastline. In front of the mirrors, also clear as crystal, were small vanities with cushioned stools. The windows provided enough sunlight to light everything but she knew dormant arcane orbs would activate when the sun grew lower. Everything sparkled, everything hummed with magic.

Le'aya smiled at Marivel's awe. "I'll leave you to have some privacy... I'll be back in an hour so, please take time to relax. You're free to wander around outside if you decide to, but don't get lost," she grinned gently, nodding towards a folded pile of clothes on one of the stools.

"Thank you," Marivel spoke softly, her eyes still looking around and taking in her surroundings. Le'aya placed a steady hand on her shoulder and squeezed. Marivel turned to her, slightly confused. Le'aya, still smiling at her, patted her hand once, and then left the room, closing the door gently. Marivel blinked after her, and turning towards the door after she left, she noticed another doorway next to the one she had gone through. Stepping into it, she found a toilet room, and gladly made use of it.

After she was finished, she came back into the bathroom. She slipped off her sandals slowly and stood on the floor, feeling the tingling sensation in her feet. She wasn't sure she'd ever be used to it. She turned her eyes to the representation of Silvermoon on the floor. She chewed her lip in thought. The elves, at least Le'aya and the few she'd seen, seemed genuinely kind, albeit curious. Weren't Kael'thas and his elves supposed to be her enemies? Weren't they supposed to be psychotic and inherently evil according to the Scryers and the Aldor, as well as the N'aaru?

She glanced at the water, the steam flowing in from vents at the four "corners" of the room. She decided, with a small chuckle, that unless the water was poisoned, or spelled to drown her, they seemed much kinder and more hospitable than she had been told. Still, she thought as she began to unhook the straps holding her dress on, kindness could be a front, could be a trick. She had no intention of dropping her guard easily, but she certainly would take advantage of what they gave her and watch them closely.

When she had removed her clothing, which had taken a bit longer than she had imagined, the dress had really been intricately tied to her body, she dipped her toes into one of the pools. The water was a perfect temperature, again, tingling with magic. She gracefully slipped into the water, letting her arms fall from where they had folded automatically over her chest.

She let the water hold her weight for a few minutes, enjoying the heat and relaxation. There was something in the water that was causing her to become more relaxed but not enough to cause her alarm. As she allowed her head to dip beneath the waters surface, soaking her hair, she exhaled the final tension out of her muscles. It felt _wonderful_!

As she broke the surface again, she reached for a bottle of hair cleanser. She washed her hair three times, rinsing thoroughly each time and watching as the dirt that came out was literally cleansed by the water. She washed her body also three times, the soap and dirt and sweat again all disappearing into the water. She dipped once more into the water and then rose form the water, and walked towards the pile of clothes.

She picked up a towel from the pile and ran it over her body and then through her hair. She avoided her reflection as she dressed herself. The dress was a sheer silk, nearly transparent, a deep midnight purple. She noted the peculiarity of the color, one that Blood Elves would not normally wear. She slipped the dress over her head and let the waves of fabric tumble to the floor.

Her shoulders were bare except for two thin, beaded silver straps that climbed down her back in a crisscross, scooping low to her hips. The sweetheart neckline was lined with an embroidered silver design that looked very much like the diving head and wings of an eagle. At the point where the straps connected to the neckline, two long and wide silver sleeves hung from her upper arm to just above her fingers. A slit came up the left side of her skirt all the way to her hip and cut across to her right ankle, revealing most of her legs, ending in a fairly long train.

She had some trouble lacing the silver tie through all the loops in the back of the dress, but, after a fair amount of struggling, finally succeeded. She pulled her fingers through her hair as best she could and left it loose, parting it to the left side of her head. She picked up her soiled clothes, slipped on her sandals, took a deep breath, and left the room.


	15. Prince Charming

As she closed the door to the bathroom and stepped into the hall, Marivel came face to face with a young Blood Elf man. Not at all unattractive, he gave a slight smile to the woman he had waited for, and bowed. Marivel was slightly startled at the gesture. She returned a fairly deep nod of her head, her eyes never leaving him. From his armor and his weapon, she correctly assumed him to be a Paladin.

"Good Evening my lady. Are you Marivel?" he asked as he met her eyes. Her wariness was evident.

She raised an eyebrow a fraction at the question. If he was sent for her, there would be no doubt of who she was- she doubted many Night Elves, Undead or otherwise, came here. Outwardly, She nodded again. "Yes?"

"Priestess Le'aya has asked me to escort you to the dining hall." His eyes flitted down her too skinny body.

She cleared her throat. Lifting the dirty clothes in her hand and inclining her head to them she began, "What of these..."

"We'll take care of it." He turned stiffly. "If you would please follow me..." Allowing him a few feet of distance, Marivel obeyed, her steps nearly silent on the sandy colored tile.

Before they had made it to the courtyard, they crossed paths with two Blood Elf women. Marivel's escort had her give them her dirtied clothes which she felt rather awkward doing. Their eyes were wide with curiosity as they took them from her and they didn't seem to mind in the slightest that they were taking her dirty laundry. Thalassian gossip poured generously from their mouths as they departed.

The sun was starting to fall behind the western towers, casting the gardens into shadow as Marivel and her escort entered the empty courtyard. A shiver crawled up her spine as a small breeze stirred the trees. She wrapped her arms about herself loosely, picking up her pace and drawing closer to the Elf in front of her. The warmth of the next hall was a welcome embrace.

When they had made it to the dining room, her escort asked her to wait outside the closed doors. He walked swiftly inside and closed the door behind him.

Awkwardness filled her as she stood alone. She looked down both sides of the hall but she heard and saw no one. She absently chewed on her lower lip as she twisted her hands behind her. For several minutes she stood rigid in front of the door, but as time drew on, her anticipation slowly died away and her back found the wall behind her. She leaned there and waited, her thoughts drifting.

Keljorin made his way through the tables to the largest of them all where the Prince was seated. He knelt at his side when he had reached him.

Prince Kael'thas turned from the conversation at hand to the Paladin at his side. "Keljorin?"

The Paladin looked up. "My Lord, the Night Elf Priestess has been summoned and is waiting outside in the hall."

The Prince nodded. "I will attend to her when I am able." When he turned back to the conversation, doubt spread across Keljorin's face. It did not escape Kael'thas' attention. "What troubles you?" he asked.

"My Prince, are you sure it is wise to have her here? She is not one of us, nor an ally..."

The Prince nodded. "I understand your worry. And you are right, she is not one of us- but she will be. We must give her our trust if we are to gain hers."

His tone was final, and the Paladin drew his right fist to his left shoulder. "Your wisdom blesses us all," he graced, rose from the floor and left.

Kael'thas continued the conversation at the table, speaking of tactics to take against the N'aaru and their cursed allies and discussing their current plans, for the next eight minutes or so. Then, excusing himself, he rose and walked gracefully towards the door, meeting several reverent smiles.

Marivel jumped as the door opened. Embarrassment burned her cheeks as she was caught leaning casually against the wall. But as she gained her balance, her eyes met the deep emerald eyes of Prince Kael'thas. She froze, her purple flush draining.

He did not smile but his face was not unfriendly. His eyes ran along her, judging the damage from her torture. Her eyes stayed locked on his, her body tense, ready to fight or for flight. The two stood there in silence for several moments.

"You're looking better," he spoke suddenly, causing the breath in her throat to catch. Her brow furrowed in confusion for a split second but smoothed as she recalled a dim memory of being carried in his arms away from her nightmare. The blush returned to touch her pale cheeks as she remembered the state she was in.

She waited for him to say more but it seemed it was her turn to speak. It took her two tries before her throat loosened enough to get anything out. "Thank you... for saving me..." her voiced faltered and trailed off.

He nodded gently. "But?" he questioned the unspoken words.

Her eyes finally fell from him and looked down the hall to her right absently. "I'm rather curious why you did."

He thought for a moment. "Would you like me to be honest?"

She looked back to him, a bit surprised at his answer. "Please."

"They were going to kill you." He said bluntly, surprising her still. "It was rather obvious that you were much more powerful than most priests- even the dulled Orcs noticed that. Just as Illidan's followers wished for you to "ally" with them, so I wish for you to help us as well. However, unlike your previous... caretakers, I do not intend to force you." He paused for a moment, gathering his thoughts. When he spoke again, his voice was passionate but like a gentle breeze caressing her cheek. "You're powerful, more than I thought and more than you realize. Your abilities and talents would greatly benefit us. I ask you, nay, I implore you, stay here until you are well. Experience us first hand and not from stories that your 'allies' pass around. Decide for yourself what you will do."

Marivel blinked, stunned. She had wondered over many explanations why she had been brought here, but her more probable ideas had been way off target. Her thoughts rushed like a waterfall through her mind. Just what help did Kael'thas need? Where was the corruption and evil that was supposed to fill him? His words were kind, almost begging for help. All that she had heard of him, was it even true? Were the accounts of the Scryer Blood Elves even accurate? The kindness she was being shown here was much more than the Horde had ever shown her... It had to be too good to be true, didn't it?

She took a breath and decided quickly, relying on her instincts. "I will give you what you ask. I will stay until I have recovered from my... time with the Fel Orcs."

He smiled a perfect smile that halted the breath in her throat again. "On behalf of my people, I thank you." He held his hand out and gestured down the hall, back towards the courtyard. "I assume you have more questions..." he began to walk. As he brushed past her, she caught the same type of touch of magic as she had from Le'aya.

Suddenly recognition dawned on her. As if it had an actual scent, she recognized the touch of his magic. It felt like it was from a dream. Something about it made her want to reach out and hold onto him, it gave her a desperate type of feeling, a desire for more. Above all, it was warm and richly arcane. He was six steps in front of her when she regained her mind enough to walk after him.

As they entered the courtyard into the shadows, Kael'thas led the way along the path. The sun was setting and a few dim stars were beginning to shine straight above them. Night blooming flowers, many of the same species the Night Elves kept, had opened their petals and cast their fragrance into the air. A few select species actually gave of warm glows in various colors.

For awhile all was silent save the sounds of nature. Marivel struggled to pull out one of the questions that swirled through her mind while gazing at him. He was incredibly handsome, but the presence he commanded was so powerful, monumental. He stood half of a foot over her, tall for even an elf. His bright sun-golden hair was long, thick and luxurious. She had a distant desire to run her hands through it. His skin was a few shades tanner than peach and looked flawless. That same distant part of her was sure it too would be soft. His body was not overly muscular, but from what showed under his armor and robe, he was well toned.

Marivel twisted the fringe on the cloak, a warm white drape he had fetched for her before they had come out into the gardens, she settled on a general question that probably wouldn't spark a general answer. "What happened to me? Why is everything so... different?"

Kael'thas slowed for a moment, then returned to his normal pace. His eyes glanced towards hers as he began to speak, "This may not be something you want to hear just yet."

Marivel bit her lip absently as her heart gave a squeeze of worry. "Please," she beckoned, her eyes pleading with his.

He turned back to face the path, Marivel's eyes never leaving him. "For some time I had not been as loyal to Illidan as he may have thought. In the beginning we came to him for help and he promised it. Of course, in the end he just used us. So," he glanced to her, "we decided to return the kind gesture. Plans were formed and we began to prepare to stand on our own and pursue our own goals. This would of course mean we needed a strong force to stand with us as he would be our enemy soon." He paused, thinking. Marivel looked fairly confused as to where this story was leading, but interested.

"The blood of a pit lord," He began, "drank by an Orc would make them stronger, but make them stupider, even by Orcish standards. The confusion and haze that falls over them, though useful in many situations, is not what I would have for my people. We experimented," he gestured with his hands, "claiming to Illidan we were doing it all for him, for his forces." Kael'thas let out a chuckle. "We sought to purify the blood, to diminish its Fel taint and extract the raw power within. And we found an agent that would do this, but the magic in the blood seemed to become stronger. It was almost as if the strength in the blood, the power, fed off of the purifying agent, and became intensely strong..." Kael'thas, his face alight with wonder and hunger, seemed to realize he was getting carried away with the wrong strain of the story and dropped his arms from the gestures he was making.

"After failed experimentation, it was judged that only someone with great power already in them would be able to handle it. It was hoped that someone of such ability would have a body that could handle the change." His eyes stayed on the path in front of them as they neared a cushioned bench at the end of the yard. "I... hope that you will forgive me for what I chose to do. It was... perhaps the only way to save your life..." His voice trailed and he stopped walking and turned to her, her face wrought with confusion. He spoke again, his voice much softer and pleading, "The Orcs were killing you. I had the authority to take you from that and I chose to. I chose to help you." He took a slow step closer. "I chose to _save_ you."

Marivel dropped her eyes from looking up into his mesmerizing ones and they fell to his armored chest. All she could do was breathe for a few moments as she waited for the world to settle from its tilting. Kael'thas waited patiently, looking down at the top of her hair. The cool wind, filled with the incense of flowers, ruffled their clothes and hair. Several more stars were shining in the dim twilight. Minutes went by.

Kael'thas finally opened his mouth to speak, fearing that he had not played this right. But Marivel spoke a moment before he could, "So... the tingling..." she spoke, her head not raising up yet, and held out her delicate right hand.

Kael'thas hesitated a moment. He offered his hand in front of hers, not quite meeting the distance. "I promise you will get used to it. It is the energy coursing strongly inside of you." She looked up to his face again and he nodded towards his hand.

She moved forward to touch his finger tips. As soon as their skin touched, her hand jerked away immediately from the sensation. Kael'thas smiled, breathing a small chuckle. "Takes a bit to get used to, I know."

Her wide eyes looked up to him and then back down to focus on his hands as she regained her composure and reached forward again. This time, she was ready. It was like a continual static shock. The tingling was strong, warm and slightly uncomfortable, but it wasn't unbearable. Her eyes were glued to their touching fingers.

"It only takes a novice Mage to know that two different kinds of magic react powerfully and nearly always explosively. But what most never get to wittiness is when two people with magic so blended into their body get the reaction from a simple touch."

Marivel nodded absently, still awed at the sensations. He pushed his hand into hers, touching their palms together. Marivel gasped lightly as the sensations got stronger. She looked up at him and noticed he was smiling at her, amused. She breathed out an embarrassed laugh and dropped her eyes but did not pull her hand away. The feeling was absolutely fascinating.

After a few moments of exchanging magical currents, she looked up at him. "The feel of your magic..." she began, attempting to form her thoughts into coherent sentences. "Its as if... I recognize it. It seems almost familiar."

Kael'thas raised his eyebrows in mild surprise. "Everyone's magic has a certain distinct quality to it, one that is personal and only they have. Its their individual magical Touch. Many Touches will be similar, but if someone's senses are acute enough," he inclined his head to her, "that person will be able to distinguish everyone's Touches. Some of course," he shrugged, "are easier to recognize than others."

She nodded in understanding, another mystery settled in her head. "Why do I feel like I've known yours before? Like I'm remembering it?"

"Before you awoke for the final time in the Black Temple, when you were still unconscious and healing... I brought you out of your Healing Slumber."

Marivel blinked at him in surprise. It seemed this supposedly cold and evil Prince of the Blood Elves had taken more care with her than she realized and she was continually learning of more ways he was protecting her. Strange, a bit worrisome, surprising... and yet oddly comforting.

"Oh," was all she said at first. Then. "thank you," and dropped her hand from his.

He nodded a silent welcome and sat down on the bench in front them. He leaned casually back and stared up at the sky. Marivel waited a moment, eying him with her head cocked to the side, before joining him. She sat up straight and let her eyes fall upon his face as he continued to stare up to the newly painted stars.

"Is it hard for you?" he spoke without warning.

Marivel's brow furrowed. "I'm sorry?"

"Being away from your people. Being... rejected by them."

Marivel's head momentarily jerked back in surprise and then felt as though her heart was given a squeeze by an invisible hand as she contemplated his question. Her eyes dropped, focusing on a small critter crawling through the grass, as she thought deeply. "Sometimes, yes," she spoke quietly. They were silent for a few more moments. "It's painful," she continued briefly. Marivel blinked and realized her eyes were beginning to sting with tears. Her eyes fluttered with surprise.

Kael'thas turned to her, his face frowning when he saw her eyes. "I didn't mean to-"

"No no, it's quite alright," she said with a sad smile, wiping her eyes with her palms. "No one has ever asked about it except- oh! Athestrasz!" She stood up like a bolt.

"Athestrasz?"

She whirled to face him. "My friend! My dragon! The last time I saw him was just before they took me!"

Kael'thas put a steady hand on her shoulder. "We'll find him." He stood and motioned towards one of the guards near the other end of the garden. They met each other halfway and Kael'thas gave him a message for one of his Mages to locate the dragon.

Kael'thas returned to her and sat back down, placing his hand upon her shoulder to guide her down as well. "Do not worry."

Marivel let her shoulders sink back down under his hand and sat back again. "Thank you- again," she gave a small, still worried, smile.

Kael'thas nodded again and dropped his hand. The sky was turning farther towards night and the air was growing cooler. Marivel pulled her cloak around her arms and sighed gently.

They both were silent again for several minutes, staring into the sky.

"I can't imagine," Kael'thas spoke in a voice that might have been him thinking out loud, "what it would be like. My people are everything to me... But I think I can understand you in a way. Azeroth," his hands balled up into tight fists, "everyone in it, they turned their backs on us. In a way we are alone like you."

"Everyone," she questioned. "What of the Horde? They accepted the blood elves didn't they?"

"Hardly! Horde? Alliance? What is the difference? Did either show you and I any sort of mercy as we left the Temple? Have either truly treated me or my people, or you for that matter, with anything but contempt? Have they ever honestly considered us true allies and not a simple convenience? The Horde may have accepted some of us, but they care little for us. They are only interested in what they will gain. They care not for the well being of the Sin'dorei," he turned to her, "nor you."

Marivel was stunned. She had always thought that, though many of the members of the Horde found her appearance unsettling, they still counted her a true ally- at least some of them. But, with a strange loneliness, she realized the words he spoke rang with painful truth. They all treated her as children who had to be nice to someone they don't like... treated her as little more than a convenience.

"I want _only _the best for my people," he was going on. "I will not take _anything_ less than that. I want us to take the place we should have in this world. I want the power we are worthy of. The power we need to survive." He spoke with strong conviction.

Marivel gazed at the strong man before her. "I think I can understand that want."

Kael'thas' body relaxed and his hands opened up, but his eyes still blazed with intensity. "A stupid bunch of swine they are to reject us."

As Marivel watched him, she was overcome with a sudden and strange sense that he might understand her pain, her rejection- things even she didn't fully grasp. And the idea that he might understand her like that appealed to her with surprising strength. Never before in her life nor her death, until this very moment, had she realized that she wanted someone to relate to, someone to understand her, someone to accept her.

A sudden shy smile spread across Kael'thas' lips. "I am sorry, I've gotten a bit emotional!" he exclaimed, breaking her thoughts. He stood up and offered her his hand. "Shall we?"

Marivel smiled back and took his hand. The shocking sensation causing her to wince in a smile momentarily and then giggle sheepishly as he pulled her to her feet. He led her away through the flowered trees and bushes and back inside.

* * *

Marivel was hugging her knees and sitting upon a pillow in the doorway to her room's balcony. The sky was the deepest blue and it glittered with stars. The soft breeze off the northern ocean still caused the hangings around her to flutter. And though night birds flew and serenaded and the view was breath taking, Marivel saw none of it. Her mind was deep in thought.

The last day had brought on knowledge and surprises she could have never expected nor imagined. It startled her that she thought she was strong enough to keep pain and sorrow from her heart only to find she was gravely wrong. Ever since the dream of Theridran she had had so many nights before, it was as if the icy resolved she had surrounded herself with didn't even exist- it had melted somehow.

In the wake of its puddle she felt so many things she hadn't known since she was alive. She felt so lonely, so desperate for someone to lean on. Athestrasz had been that in a way, but she knew now she needed something else, _someone_ more.

She chewed on her lip. Was what Kael'thas had spoken true? It seemed to be. Sure, the Undead weren't known for their closeness or friendship, but was she more rejected than most? She had always kept to herself but... besides that strange rogue, who had ever tried, beyond simple physical desire and vendors trying to sell her something? She frowned. Maybe trying to keep on her own had only been a feeble attempt to blind herself from the truth that no one wanted her around.

Maybe she should accept his request for help, she thought. They certainly expressed their need and want for her more than the Horde, not to mention that they were accepting her as if she was a Blood elf herself. A Blood Elf with many curious attributes, but one of them. The short time she had spent in their company reminded her much of when she lived as a novice priestess to Elune.

She snorted when she realized that, even is she attempted to come back, she doubted the Horde or N'aaru would listen to one word she said. They'd kill her on sight for being with Kael'thas' forces. The Alliance would kill her because she was unlucky enough to be Undead.

She gave a single nod of her head and got up. She walked over to her bed and flopped onto it, yawning and stretching. She rolled onto her left side and curled up, pulling a thin blanket over her. As her eyes shut, her thoughts still raced over the day. She speculated what might happen in the next few days. Eventually the pull of sleep was too strong and she fell.


	16. A New Home

As Marivel sat down to a wonderful looking and tasting breakfast with Le'aya, Le'aya gazed at her curiously. "So... you spoke with Prince Kael'thas last night, didn't you?"

Marivel swallowed the bite of pastry she was chewing. "Yes."

Le'aya stared, not eating, obviously anxious to hear the details. Marivel found herself reminded of a young teenage girl. "He told me what happened in the temple - about why all these strange sensations are happening," she waggled her fingers.  
He also spoke," she began more sadly, "of the contempt the rest of Azeroth shows you."

"Us," Le'aya corrected. "It's a painful truth to discover. I think I used to believe they really accepted me, but I know it was just a facade they put up."

Marivel bit her lip. "I suppose you're right. But how're-" Marivel stopped short. Just then a very strange and demonic looking blood elf walked through the door. Le'aya turned around to look.

"Oh, you probably haven't seen- Those are Blood Elves who've taken to siphoning Fel energy from demons. You were the reason they discovered it."

Marivel gaped. "Me?"

Le'aya nodded. "The progress they made with you and the Fel Blood guided them to the idea to siphon the actual power from demons instead of the blood."

Marivel continued to watch them. Their skin was red and horns had sprouted from their foreheads. Some even had wings.

"It is a bit strange looking," Le'aya was continuing, "but it increases their power and strength so much. The Shadowsword, that's the force who helps guard the Sunwell, all were willing to give their forms up in order to make our vision come to life... I didn't think Kael'thas would be okay with the change, but he allowed it obviously."

Marivel nodded slowly. "They must really believe in him," she said, turning back to Le'aya.

"They do. We all do," Le'aya replied. She gave Marivel a smile and turned eagerly to her breakfast.

Throughout the rest of the day, Le'aya began to teach Marivel the layout of the Temple. They spoke about many things, delving into each other's pasts, how they had grown up, things they enjoyed, basically becoming friends. When Le'aya was needed elsewhere, Marivel wandered around alone. She had gotten herself lost a few times, but always managed to find her way to more familiar places. She received many curious looks and glances, but she also received smiles and warm welcomes. There were several people who spoke with her for extended amounts of time, always happy to meet and learn about her.

As the sun was setting, she sat on the edge of a harbor, her legs dangling off the sea wall. She was slightly uncomfortable from being so full again, dinner had been too delicious to not take seconds and thirds, but other than that she was more relaxed than she had been in a very long time. The kindness she had been shown here reminded her still of when she lived on Teldrassil.

She twisted a stem of grass in her hands. How could anyone have spoken ill of these people? How could she have so willingly, and stupidly, believed it? They were just like her, victims of circumstance who were just trying to get by and live how they should. Her face scowled. It was the others, the Alliance, the Horde, the N'aaru, everyone else who she once thought was good- they were the real evil ones.

"Did that plant say something rude?" a voice behind her spoke.

Marivel turned halfway to see a male warlock she had spoken to earlier in the day looking down at her smiling. She looked back to her hands to see that she had shredded the piece of grass she had been holding. She giggled sheepishly, shaking her head and brushed the pieces off into the water.

The Blood elf sat down next to her, his Fel Hound romping through the grasses somewhere behind them chasing a squirrel. "How're you doing, Miss Marivel?" he asked.

She smiled at how he addressed her. "Fine Dal'sin." She was pleased she remembered his name. "And you?"

"Quite alright! You are enjoying the view?"

"Hmm." She nodded. "It's quite lovely."

Dal'sin nodded. "I am glad it has your approval." For a few minutes neither spoke a word. "Forgive me," he spoke at last, "but your surname is Windsong, is it not?"

Marivel eyed him out of the corner of her eye. "It is."

"I knew of the Windsong name from many years ago. It is said their song is sung by the wind itself and carried magically into the hearts of those who hear it..."

Marivel nodded. "Yes, my fa- my mother was very famous. I did not choose that path, however." She cut off the word "family" a bit late. She did not feel it appropriate to refer to them as such anymore.

Dal'sin nodded gently. "Still... Perhaps one day you might grace this island with your song. I'm sure it would be beautiful." Without waiting for her to reply, he stood up. "I must take my leave. Soon this land may be littered with battles- there is much left to be done before then. Shorel'aran."

"Farewell," she replied back. She sat awhile longer on the cooling stone, remembering her mother's songs. She looked down over herself. What awful things might her mother think of her now?

The following days were largely the same. She began to learn the Terrace's layout well and no longer found herself lost. She grew stronger everyday, surprising everyone, including herself, with how quickly she recovered. She did not see Kael'thas more than a few times at dinner, but she made herself busy, helping to strengthen defensive enchantments, fortifications, and help heal those who came back injured from battling in the Outland. She began to learn many faces and names and got to know a few of them and their backgrounds.

On the fourth day she had been there, she was told Athestrasz had been located and spoken to. He was staying in Shattrath. But her joy was short lived when she discovered that when a Blood Elf allied with Kael'thas had spoken to him undercover and told him where Marivel was, he had refused to come.

"But... why?" She begged Driana, the messenger.

Driana frowned slightly. "He refuses to be involved with anyone associated with demons or any demonic power."

Marivel's heart fell. "I don't..." she sighed. "Thank you."

Driana put a hand on her shoulder. "I'm sorry," she said.

Marivel, appreciating the kind gesture, gave her back a sad smile, nodded, turned, and left the halls of the Terrace to go sit in the square of Dawnstar Village. Because of a gesture Kael'thas had made to save her life, her only loyal friend in the world now wouldn't associate with her? Why did it everyone reject her for things not under her control?

Everyone but the Blood Elves, her mind amended.

After one week, she was walking alone in the garden early in the morning when she sensed Kael'thas approaching. She turned to see him enter in and smiled. They both walked towards each other and clasped hand in greeting.

"You are recovering quickly, faster than I had hoped," he smirked, his compliment not lost on her.

"Yes," she agreed. "I can feel myself, my powers, growing as I use them. They seem to be speeding up the recovery process as well."

Kael'thas nodded. "I expect your time here has not turned sour since we last spoke two days ago."

"Oh not at all! Everyone has been so kind to me. It's wonderful," she smiled widely, genuinely.

"I am happy to hear it, but your well being is only part of the reason I sought you out."

Marivel cocked her head in interest.

"I would like you to come meditate and Balance with me."

She blinked her surprise. "Of course," she agreed. "Although," she began to voice her doubt as he turned to lead her inside, "I am fearful that I am not strong enough to Balance with you."

Kael'thas actually laughed. "I believe you are." He held out his arm in escort. "Come now." Graciously she took his arm and she followed.

They found their destination in a quiet room with no windows and only a dim glow of magical light. Marivel glanced around as she was led to the center of the room. There were a few couches scattered around the outside of the room but the main area was empty. Kael'thas came around and stood in front of her, facing her. They both breathed a few times, preparing. After 5 slow breaths, they sat down cross legged in unison. They kept their eyes on each other for awhile, doing nothing but breathing and clearing their minds. Marivel had only done Balanced a few times but she had always been quite good at it. She worried about this attempt though.

As the breathing and relaxing continued and they began to fall into a fairly deep meditation. Out of nowhere the humming magic Marivel felt all around her, especially from her partner, became louder. It startled her, and she began to lose her relaxed state. But she was a strong Priestess and quickly regained it. As she fell deeper, the humming became stronger, not so much louder. It became a very pronounced feeling.

Ten minutes passed like ten seconds. Then Twenty. Thirty went by.

Then Marivel felt Kael'thas open his mouth to speak. His voice was charged with magic. "I want you to go much deeper than you are. Not into relaxation, but yourself. I want you to delve deeply into yourself, and find the power that seeks to be freed."

Marivel, though unsure of what he spoke of, knew better than to think on it and worry. She simply tried.

Rather unsuccessfully.

"You're still worried, you're still nervous about too much."

Marivel didn't speak. She knew her thoughts would be basic ones he would understand.

Kael'thas put his hands on her shoulders. She knew they were there before he even touched her. She could sense his movements by the charge they put into the air.

He pulled her gently forward towards him so that her head was bowing towards him. He aligned himself much the same way, the tops of their head touching, their hair mingling together in a waterfall.

He then placed his hands on hers. The gesture was startling, but she held on to her deep state. "I will let no harm befall you. I will protect you. And I will guide you. Now trust me."

'_Yes_'her mind and spirit suddenly resounded in unison. And then she found what she was looking for. Nearly impossible to describe without experiencing it, she felt as though she had discovered a locked room inside of her. Only a key could open it and that key came when both her mind and spirit were in unison. She found that when she opened the door to peek inside, an immense, dormant, and incredible power flooded into her.

She gasped as her body shook violently, her eyes flying open and glowing brilliantly white. Strong and fiery holy magic coursed into her body, making her skin also glow. Her breathing turned suddenly ragged, her back arched and her head hung back as the intense magic screamed through her. Kael'thas has slipped behind her without her knowledge and waited, watching and feeling the intensity with a hungry and pleasureful smile.

When Marivel somehow decided she could take no more, the door shut almost of its own accord, and she fell. Strong humming arms caught her and she lay against his chest for several minutes with her eyes closed, her breath slowing.

Finally she opened her eyes and looked up into his. He did not smile, but the look in his eyes was soft and tender. "You surprise me again, beloved priestess." She smiled and blushed ever so slightly at his tender words.

Finally she pushed herself up and turned to face him. "I had... no idea... that... that was inside of me."

He nodded. "Only those of immense natural power, stamina, and discipline can touch on the power that resides inside of them. Very few of them can tap into it readily. Those few make the legendary heroes known across Azeroth."

She nodded again. "Thank you for guiding me and showing this to me."

Kael'thas smiled. "Only a matter of time before you would have discovered it yourself. When everything is in unison, in harmony, it happens. This can occur obviously through meditation, but also in intense emotional battles. I simply showed you the path early."

Again, she nodded.

"So, would you like to try balancing?"

She bit her lip. "I suppose we could try." She help up her hands and his palms met hers flat. Their eyes closed and their breathing began. And then the air around them sizzled and crackled. The great Mage and Priestess slowly poured out their power against each other, each giving great effort to keep it in balance and not explode at magic tended to. The more power they pushed out, the harder it became to keep the balance in check. It required both parties to constantly sense what the other put out and what they themselves were putting out. It taught and required perfect control, and they had it.

Marivel found she loved the feel of his magic and she was elated as she could be in this intense concentration at the feel and use of the new power within her. It was as if now that she had discovered it was there, it was much easier to tap into.

She felt Kael'thas lower his magical output lower than needed, and thus sensed that he was ending the balance. She followed him, the same way she had followed him up, and after awhile, their hands were simply passing normal, safe currents.

She opened her eyes and found him smiling at her. "I did not push as far as I could have, but father than I thought I would. Your power is remarkable, Marivel."

Her cheeks darkened. "Thank you. Your's too, of course, is simply... wonderful," she breathed.

He smiled at her and her blush. He lifted her up by her hands and led the way out. Marivel saw the fatigue in him and realized that the power they had balance must have been more than she had thought.

"Perhaps..." he said, as if continuing a thought. "Perhaps tomorrow?"

Marivel understood immediately and smiled. "Please!"

He chuckled and closed the door behind them, leaving the room still humming.

A few days later, as she lay in her beloved Prince's arms after pushing the door to her inner power open just a bit more, she felt his arms close around her a bit more than usual. Her body, still in large balance with her mind, acted almost instantly and she found herself actually snuggling closer into his chest. She was so surprised she almost pulled right back, but her body managed to keep its hold over itself. Her heart reacted though and it started beating away merrily. She was thankful she had already been breathing hard or that might too have been affected.

As her breathing returned to normal, she was surprised again when he didn't relinquish his hold on her. He did not tighten it, but simply stayed as he was, breathing gently. "Relax," he said softly.

Marivel felt the sting of embarrassment as she realized her whole body had been tensed in nervousness. With considerable effort, she sighed and relaxed slowly, allowing him to hold her weight. As she relaxed, she turned slightly. Her cheek came to rest against his chest and his heartbeat filled her ear. The sound of it was strangely relaxing and made her feel suddenly closer to him, though neither had moved.

They would rest like this for awhile, perhaps 40 minutes before they would continue with training, just basking in each others magical warmth, hearts beating away the minutes. Kael'thas' fingers found their way into her hair not long after she had relaxed and had steadily moved throughout it since.

Marivel's heart had not stopped flopping or racing at all. She had managed to relax her body, but her mind was a different story. In all honestly, she felt giddy. She had been close to men before, even bedded a few, but that was all in work and war. This was... different, she decided. It wasn't a completely wonderful feeling; there was an odd twinge in her chest, below her throat. She didn't know what it was or how to get rid of it. Regardless, she enjoyed the excitement of being close to him. It was... different.

Over the next days, whenever Marivel saw or heard of Kael'thas, which was quite often, her heart gave a strange jump and a particular smile painted her lips. Many times when she saw him, he would give her a meaningful and deep look that no others from what she could tell received. Some times he would linger near her longer than was needed, and others he would brush her hand. On one night in particular, when they found themselves along in the garden, he had brushed her cheek with the back of her hand.

Her thoughts were no longer filled with painful memories, but only of her Cherished Prince who understood her, who cared for her, who called her his "Beloved." Her musings as she went to sleep each night were simply of when she might see him again.

Two weeks passed and Marivel felt at home. She had been accepted fully and she never saw any strange looks anymore, though there were a few lustful and awed ones that she hardly minded. She felt much stronger than she ever had in her life and her powers were still growing with every day. She could feel it. She could sense certain people even when they were several rooms away from her. Kael'thas, of course, was one of the more prominent. He and Marivel were beginning to spend more time together as her powers grew stronger and attack from the Shattered Sun Offensive, an attack force led by the N'aaru, grew more likely. Their training sessions grew longer and more intense as well. Kael'thas had made the comment that he thought she might soon surpass him.

As the days went by, Marivel felt an affinity towards him like she never had for anyone. She felt closer to him than any of the other elves and felt that she understood him more than they did, as well as understood by him. She knew he felt the same. Their deep gazes and charged touches could only be proof of how their relationship was progressing, and it brought her to giggles whenever she dwelled on it.

She sat down to breakfast with her closer friends this morning. They were discussing plans, telling jokes, even gossiping. It was decided between several of them, that four different Blood Elves had found themselves quite smitten with Marivel, to which she strongly disagreed with while a blush touched her cheeks. The stronger she refused it, the more her friends laughed. But above it all, Marivel felt happy.

They talked on until they were interrupted by a messenger. "Kael'thas would like to see you as soon as possible, Marivel."

Marivel was slightly curious why he wished to see her so early today, but happily she rose to her feet. "See you later," the table called to her as she followed the messenger out.

As she entered the incense filled room of Kael'thas' inner sanctum, he was sitting on his throne. When she stopped at the door and bowed to him, he motioned her in. He rose to greet her, clasping her hands, sending the tingling energies throughout her that she adored. "My beloved Marivel," he began and her hear sang, "I believe you have recovered not only fully from your time in the Black Temple, but even past what you were when you were taken there. As we agreed, you were to wait to pass judgment... I should like to know what you have decided."

Marivel breathed slowly. She had wondered when he might bring this up, but she had long been prepared. "I have thought about this every night and many days." She bowed to him formally, "If you would have me, most cherished of the Sun, I would choose to stay here and help you as you have asked. I would serve you as my Prince."

"I would have it." Kael'thas tilted her chin up gently and there eyes locked deeply. "Marivel Windsong, do you swear you will follow me? Do you swear that my friends will be your friends, my enemies your enemies? With life and spirit and body that you will protect me, our people, and our ways?"

Marivel's breath slowed. She thought on all the words carefully. "Anar'alah Elune. Selama Ashal'anore. I will. I swear it."

Kael'thas took her hands and brought her to her feet. "Lady Marivel Windsong," he entitled her. "It is time for you to know more." Without another word, he led her out of the Terrace and deep into the Sunwell Plateau.

As they walked through halls and two large gateways, Kael'thas began to speak, Marivel noticed many demons and Fel Blood Elves around. "Do not think me evil for what I have done-"

"Never my Prince," she spoke quickly.

He nodded. "Just as you have learned that some accounts you have heard are not true, please keep an open mind when you hear what I am about to say, and see what I am about to show you." Marivel followed him through a final gateway. And when she did, an immense wave of power overtook her.

"By the Light of Elune," she breathed. She stood before the Sunwell itself. But it was not this great conduit of power that made her gasp. It was the Demons standing around it, channeling power from what looked like a young blond girl, encased in an arcane prison above it, into the well. "What..."

"The master," he spoke, "the one who has promised to deliver us the power we deserve, the only one who sees us as a powerful ally and is willing to truly help us. He... he will save us. He will destroy our enemies and save us!"

Marivel was disturbed. "Who," she demanded.

Kael'thas' face was lit from the arcane magic that flowed abundantly here and just then looked slightly fanatical. "The mighty Kil'jaden."

Marivel stared at him. "You... can't be... serious..."

Kael'thas turned to her. "Deadly so. He has sworn, promised to lift us up with him. We will bring him into this world and those that hate us, he will punish. He will give my people the magic they need to survive. We will rule this world for him. He has done nothing but help us!"

Marivel looked uneasy. She trusted Kael'thas, adored him more accurately, but wasn't Kil'jaden known as the Deceiver for a reason? Marivel looked up. "And the girl?"

"Her name is Anveena. A clever charade that one has played. I'm sure you can feel that she is no mere mortal. She in fact the embodiment of the Sunwell's energies, or what remained of them after it had to be destroyed after the Third War. She serves us well," he grinned.

"But light of the Sun, is Kil'jaden not known as the deceiver?"

Kael'thas turned to her and stepped closer. "To those who do not know better. Did they not tell you we were evil? Did the same not neglect you? Do you still trust their eyes to see for you, their ears to hear, their minds to decide?"

Marivel looked down and shook her head.

Kael'thas took another step forward and tilted her chin up gently, looking into her eyes. "We are not the Night Elves of old. We are not just a bridge to this world. He will make us rulers." And then, moving his face to meet hers, he kissed her.

Her eyes widened not only from the act but from the lightning that crashed from his lips into hers and through her whole body. Her hands trembled at her sides as he slipped one hand from her chin to behind her neck and his other to her back, pulling her against him. Her body was frozen in shock, but he either did not notice or mind.

She was breathless when he finally released her. His arms stayed around her, gifting her with the support she needed to stand. Though it was unlike any kiss she had ever experienced, it wasn't quite pleasant.

"Trust me?" he whispered into her ear, his breath sending shivers down her spine.

Marivel nodded slowly and turned to look at Anveena, who was crying silently. She hadn't expected this, any of it, and she was filled with foreboding. But as she tuned to look at Kael'thas again, she knew she would keep her oath, no matter how strange or wrong it seemed.

Kael'thas, after explaining the various tasks he wished her to accomplish over the next few days, bid her farewell with another lightning touched kiss. She walked out, dazed but hurriedly to get away from the scene and the ominous feeling in her stomach.

Kael'thas continued to stare up at Anveena as a female Eredar, who had been standing behind them and watching the scene from beside the doorway, walked up to greet him. "You were right, she is surprisingly powerful. It is a wonder we did not sense her before."

The hungry gaze on the Prince's face stayed where it was; he gave no sign that he was even aware of the demon's presence. "How can we be sure," she continued, "that she is loyal?"

Kael'thas finally stirred and turned to her. "She was all too easily played. Those idiots in charge of the Horde and Alliance couldn't have made it any easier for her to be convinced. I have no doubt she will stay very loyal to me. I would have never shown her this otherwise." He looked away and licked his lips, tasting his Night Elf pet.

"Good," she said grinning and turned to gaze at the embodiment of the Sunwell and the portal through which the Great One would enter. "The Master will be pleased."


	17. Shindu Fallah Na

_NOTE TO READER: Chapters 14-17 have all been re-written. Much of it is the same, but those readers who read them before May 2009 should go back and re-read. There are some important events which will be referred to later in the story._

* * *

Over the next four days Marivel trained harder than ever before in her life and undeath. Several rogues allied with the Shattered Sun Offensive had been caught snooping around the island and the atmosphere had become filled with tension. She continued the tasks she had had before as well as magically sparring with many of her comrades. After her time with Kael'thas, she was not surprised to find that she bested them all easily, though the strongest of those on the island were too busy with preparations to practice.

She grew more accustomed to working with Kil'jaden's demons and more accepting, but try as she might, she never could fully ignore the sinking feeling in her stomach that they gave her.

On the fifth day after she had discovered her new master, she was walking on the southern part of the isle, speaking with some of the Naga posted there, when she felt it. A strong disturbance shifted the ley energies of the island. She glanced around. No one around her had seemed to notice anything.

"My lady? Are you alright?" one of them inquired when she had stopped mid-sentence and not continued.

"No," she answered. She was silent a few moments longer, concentrating on the sensations she was experiencing.

"Prepare yourselves," she exclaimed a minute later. "There is battle happening!" The words were still leaving her mouth as she broke into a dead run towards the north edge of the isle. A Naga horn of war sounded behind her, reverberating through the trees.

It was a terribly long run, and she cursed herself for not bringing a mount with her. Every few minutes she could feel the sensations of death, a small twinge of magic that accompanied a soul departing this realm. Once or twice she felt the large jolt of someone powerful dying. As the death waves continued, she began to seriously fear there might be a strong assault on the temple. She had to get to her Prince, had to be there to stand with him if he needed help.

It took her much too long to reach to Terrace. As she passed through the square it seemed that only those of high rank had any idea of what was going on, but the panic in their air was apparent to the others.

"What is it?" a young female mage asked her, taking hold of her sleeve to stop her.

"What's going on? Why did they all leave for the Terrace?" A younger warrior asked, barely a man.

"What are our orders?" another demanded.

"I do not know what is happening." she gasped to the group gravitating around her. She leaned on her knees, trying to get her breath back and speak. Her heart felt as if it would burst. "All I know," when she was finally able to continue, "is there is battle. Stand ready for anything! Get to your posts and-" She stopped suddenly.

Marivel's vision suddenly unfocused. Time appeared to have stopped. A sudden, huge absence of power left a void anyone with even a small gift for magic would have felt. Her whole body went cold as she lifted her widened, terror filled eyes to look towards the terrace.

Everyone in her general vicinity turned with her feeling the abrupt shift in the air. Everything went quiet: the wind stopped, the water went deathly still, even the birds were silenced. For several agonizing heartbeats, nothing happened.

And then she screamed. A scream that froze blood in the veins of anyone who would hear it. A scream that tore fire through her throat. A scream that rang shrill through the minds of everyone on the island. And again she ran, her tiredness suddenly worlds away. Ran as hard and as fast as she could. Ran to the terrace. Ran through the gates, halls, gardens. Ran past dozens of skirmishes taking place throughout the terrace between her allies and the Horde and Alliance.

She at last burst through the door way to the Inner Sanctum of her Prince only to find him dead on the floor.

She couldn't breathe. Everything ached. Her mind was numb and she slumped under the pain of this revelation. It felt like the light and warmth was gone from the world.

Slowly, her eyes and mind adjusted. She took in the rest of the scene. Over his body, and worse yet rummaging through his clothes, stood a Blood Elf, two Undead, a Tauren, and an Orc. She stared at the floor beneath them, her eyes glowing bright with hatred. They hadn't seemed to notice her.

"You..."she spoke, menace dripping.

The Orc, Tauren, and one of the Undead turned to look up at her. They quickly raised their weapons and charged at her, shouting battle cries. As a sword, two daggers, and an ax swung against her, her body and mind cried out, protesting in unison. The source of power within her that her now dead Prince had guided her to, fueled by anger, rage and hatred, awakened and begged to be set forth. The inner door to that power cracked open. A brilliant, blinding white light exploded forth from her and filled the room.

When it had faded and the room was dark enough to see again, Marivel had not moved an inch; her anger and grief filled eyes still stared at the broken body of her Prince. She was barely breathing. Her three attackers, however, were gone. Three piles of ash lay in place.

The Blood Elf screamed in terror. The Undead that was left alive, a warlock, began to cast upon Marivel. Her eyes flickered up to him, an otherworldly hate filling them. His voice was cut off with a painful choking sound. At a narrowing of her eyes holy shackles appeared and bound him tightly.

Her attention turned to the Blood Elf, a Paladin, who was attempting escape the scene by casting an invulnerability spell around herself and use a binding stone. She fizzled the Paladin's spell with three quick words and cast a spell that bound her hands and her legs, forcing her to face the warlock. The Paladin attempted to dispel the bindings but Marivel cut her spell off. With a few twisting words of dark shadow, she sucked the energy from the Paladin's soul, leaving her harshly weakened and unable to use her magic for a time.

Marivel turned back to the warlock, who had regained his voice and was weaving what was probably the strongest spell her knew to attack Marivel.

With a flick of her hand, she created a shield around her that absorbed everything he threw at her. She roughly took his right wrist in her hand, her nails digging in, and tore away the ring that was held tightly in his palm. "So..." she spoke with an insane calm and quiet. "You would kill my prince... and then steal from him?" She looked back and forth from the two slowly. A small smile tugged at the corners of her lips. The paladin moaned in fear.

She turned back to the warlock. "I shall show you the same mercy." Taking the spell blade from the warlocks side she turned it over in her hands and inspected it. Looking back to grin at the Blood Elf's look of horror, she ran the warlock through.

The warlock gave out a rough groan of pain. Marivel twisted the blade in the Warlock's chest, took it out. Staring again into the Paladins eyes, never leaving them, the smile growing wider, she stabbed him again. His groans became yells of agony. Greenish blood coughed up from his lips and sprayed from his chest, splattering Marivel's face and body. She tore the blade from him again and thrust it into him stomach. And then again. And again. She mindlessly stabbed him over a dozen times, her eyes never leaving the Paladin's. Eventually, he stopped screaming.

By this time the entry into the room was filled with guards, not making a move to interrupt her and frozen by the shock at the sight of their beloved prince lying dead.

Marivel turned back to look at the Warlock. She left the blade sheathed in his rotted chest and let the shackles fall from his lifeless corpse. She turned back and walked right up to the Blood Elf, who was staring at the ground without seeing it, crying.

"Pathetic," Marivel said gently. She raised her hand and slapped her harshly. "You are _Pathetic_," she screamed at her, her magic and fury resonating in the Elf's mind. Then she smiled condescendingly. "You could have at least attempted to heal him," she continued, calmly again. "I know you should have at least recovered some of your strength to cast, but instead you let him die without even trying. Imagine what it must have been like for him to die, you just standing there, not caring." The Paladin began to sob.

Marivel grabbed the Paladin's chin roughly and made her look up into her face. "How dare you turn upon your prince!" she screamed again.

The girl opened her mouth to retort and Marivel sent a surge of magic straight to the girl's brain. She screamed in such absolute excruciating pain that the soldiers in the room cringed. Many had to turn away and leave. The screaming and absolute torture lasted for several minutes though it might have well been an eternity. Marivel's calm face was crossed with pleasure.

At last, the Paladin's unspoken wish for death was granted. The pained light in her eyes was snuffed and the shackles fell to the floor, her body with them.

"Leave, and take them from here," Marivel spoke to the guards. They obeyed her immediately and without question.

She walked slowly to her Prince and knelt down next to him. For awhile, she couldn't bare to look up at him. She just stared down at her bloodied hands and clothes.

Finally, she lifted her eyes to his broken yet beautiful form. She passed her hands over his skin, healing the surface damage that had been caused. To her absolute grief, she found him to be an empty husk: his soul, along with her last hope, was gone. As she knew deep in her heart from the beginning, the Warlock had drained it from his body, sealing the Prince's fate in death. To raise him now would raise a mindless shell; he deserved more dignity than that.

As she finished healing him, she brought her lips near his cheek and whispered, "I swear to you, my beloved, they will pay for this. I will see your plans through, I will see your people restored to their glory. We will destroy any on Azeroth that stand in our way. They will know the might of the Sin'dorei... they will know the fury of Kil'jaden." Her voice choked.

She lay her head down on his chest, clutching at his robes and finally wept.

* * *

The Island was silent that evening except for soft murmurings and quiet tears. Marivel sat with some of her friends, including Le'aya, who was crying into her shoulder while Marivel had her arm around her. Those who weren't mourning where barricading the fortress and clearing out the many corpses of the fighting.

As they sat in the gardens, Marivel spotted Dal'sin and nodded him over. He sat down across from her and they eyed each other solemnly. They had lost many friends and comrades that day to the Shattered Sun's attack.

For several minutes they gazed sadly. Then, wiping the tears from her face, Marivel took a deep, slow breath. Magery began to glow under her skin, giving her an angelic shine. She opened her mouth, and for the first time in many years, for a reason greater than any other, she sang.

The animals quieted, the very ocean grew still.

The breeze picked up as the notes and words began to flow smoothly from her lips. The wind carried them, its voices sang them, and the island and all on it were filled with a haunting melody. The spirits of the Island, of the day's battles and countless conflicts passed, mourned with the living and joined in her song, in her anguish, in The Lament of the Highborne.

* * *

The mourning on the island was short lived. The very next day the Shattered Sun Offensive made tremendous progress in establishing a base of operations on the island itself and caused them many casualties. Though Marivel and the others did their best not to let the advantage be pressed, many of them were emotionally weakened at the loss of their Prince, and thus physically weakened. Still, they fought, and died, bravely.

Though Marivel did go to the front lines and pursue battles whenever she could, her skills and blessings were better put to use behind the lines on those coming back from battle and on their fortifications.

Two numb days passed, and on the third she was approached by an Eredar warlock. The demon bowed to her. "My mistress would have a word with you at the Sunwell." Marivel knew the deomn's master, one of the famous Eredar twins.

Marivel nodded to her, finished healing the Blood Knight she was attending and headed into the temple.

The Grand Warlock Alythess greeted Marivel with warm wishes of her enemy's slaughter. Marivel bowed graciously and returned the greeting. "To what do I owe this summoning?"

"Though, Lady Marivel, you are of great use to us here in guarding our master's grand entrance, it is felt that you would have a greater use elsewhere."

Marivel frowned slightly but made no objection.

"It is believed that your identity here and your alliance with us is not yet known amongst our enemies; your former allies." Marivel narrowed her eyes, guessing where this conversation was going. "There is one, an elf, who is believed to have a strong connection with the leaders of the Horde, thus the leaders of the Shattered Sun, and to be penetrable. You will find that connection, you will exploit it, and you will stop any hatchling plans to stop our glorious master from arriving.

"You will be given a blessing to guard your thoughts, even while you sleep, from prying minds like that of the N'aaru, so you need not worry about guarding yourself all the time."

Marivel bowed. "I will do as you ask, but a question if I may?"

Alythess nodded.

"Is there any reason in particular why I have been chosen for this task?" A chance to get back at the bastards who had killed her prince, her savior, was what she truly wanted but Marivel already knew there was a reason it was her and not someone else; she could sense it.

The Warlock again nodded. "It is believed that you know this one. It is believed you will find infiltrating him easier than others would."

Marivel wondered. "The name?"

"Theridan."

Marivel's cheeks became white and cold as snow. "The- The Elfin rogue?" She stammered.

The Warlock nodded, "The same." Worry crossed her face. "Are you not able to complete this task, Lady? The Master will not be pleased with failure."

Marivel ran her hand through her loose hair in attempt to regain composure. She breathed and then straightened. "It is fine, Alythess. I will succeed. It will be as you say – easy."

But Marivel knew much better than that. She knew this would not be easy if her first encounter with the rogue had been any indication. Something about his eyes truly bothered her. Happy she would have been to never seen those eyes again, although she couldn't make herself wish them closed forever and that too bothered her.

Her master had ordered it though. Who was she to disagree? But a tie to the Horde? How could that be possible? He was a rogue! They kept no ties. But... if it was true she would find out. Though she knew he had a strange effect over her, she also knew she had it over him. And she was a woman – she would always be superior to a man in that respect.

* * *

Over the next few days, Marivel said her goodbyes to her friends and told them what was to happen. They revered her and loved her for what she was to sacrifice. For 5 days she neither ate nor drank, and slept as little as she could manage, forcing herself back into a similar state of what she had been in. Over these days she allowed herself to be bruised in various locations. Her comrades did not like to do it, but they knew it was her best chance to infiltrate back into the enemy.

On the sixth day, they bound and brought her into one of their outlying posts. Their spies had notified them that this post was going to be attacked and, hopefully, taken by the SSO. They brought other Shattered Sun prisoners and executed them there. They beat Marivel enough to cause her to pass out, which was surprisingly little given her lack of sleep. Then they waited.

When the attack came, they put on a convincing show, and fought the SSO bitterly. They had purposefully left it lightly guarded and called retreat just before they would have lost one of their fighters. The SSO took the bait hungrily.

A cheer sounded as the Shattered Sun soldiers swarmed the outpost. The happy faces turned solemn as they found the slaughtered prisoners.

"Must have been where the tortured were brought to be executed," one soldier said to his comrade as he gazed at the bodies. The clothes were in rags, their bodies in little better a state. The faces at least were fairly recognizable.

Over the next hour, the soldiers gathered the bodies together, laying them in the shade of a nearby tree, and covered them.

One by one, bodies were identified by comrades or superiors, notes were made of who died at the battle, and the bodies were then carried away and burned at a funeral pyre on the shore. Three hours later, the only body left was that of Marivel's. Of course, no one recognized her as a member of the Shattered Sun; neither did they realize she was alive.

Word spread, but no one had any idea of who she was. A Lieutenant passing by spotted her and demanded a passing grunt, "What in the world is this body still doing lying here?"

The young man shook with fear at her tone and answered, "Sh-she has yet to be identified, Lieutenant!"

The Lieutenant threw his hands up in exasperation. "So, you're just going to let it rot here and get the whole island sick? Burn it! Now!"

The soldier gave a quick nod, "Yessir!" grabbed a passing soldier and together, they wrapped the body up in the cloth covering her, and carried her towards the shore.

As the sidestepped across the shore towards the horrible smelling pyre, the sand shifted under one of the men's right foot. He stumbled, and dropped his end of the cargo. Her head hit the ground hard. He gaped at the disrespect he had just shown this spirit's body.

"You dolt!" the other solder snapped as he lay his end of the body on the ground. "Are you trying to get haunted or get us all cursed?"

The soldier shook uncontrollably. He quickly unwrapped the cloth near her face to ask her spirit's forgiveness. He bowed his head in reverence and offered supplication. When he raised his head, his eyes met hers. They were open. They were open and blinking and staring right into his.

He screamed.

* * *

The next two days, Marivel woke up only to eat and drink, which she did generously, and then slept again. Her body regained its strength exceedingly quickly, not unnoticed by her caretakers.

"Ah, Sa'wyn," spoke a Draenei paladin as he entered the infirmary on the Aldor Rise. "This is the patient you spoke of?"

Sa'wyn, a Draenei priestess of the Light, was in charge of the care of those victims who required extended stays in the infirmary. She had been the one feeding Marivel whenever she awoke as well as trying to speak to her. There were several curious parties who wanted answers from Marivel but, of course, Marivel hadn't given Sa'wyn any information since she was too confused each time she had awakened.

Sa'wyn nodded to Delanar, her Paladin friend she had sent a message to a few hours before, asking him to visit her. "She is, as I said in my message, most peculiar. She is a priestess, that much I can tell. She seems to have been raised like the Dark Rangers of the Forsaken. But..."

The paladin nodded. "I too sense something strange about her, stranger than being a non-ethereal Banshee already."

"Yes," Sa'wyn agreed. "She was found tortured by the Blood Elves of Kil'jaden's forces, but she is not of the Offensive, so she must have been taken from The Outland. No one seems to know her though."

The paladin leaned over Marivel. He placed a hand on her shoulder and closed his eyes. Sa'wyn waited. A frustrated expression appeared over the veterans face. Beads of sweat accumulated around his forehead. Finally after five long minutes, he sighed and let his hand fall. "My attempts to see her mind were completely rejected. Completely..." he said again as if not fully believe it himself. "She's strong... whatever she is. We'll have to wait until she wakes up."

Sa'wyn thanked him, and conversed lightly about his recent days and his family. As he walked out the doorway he paused and glanced back. "I think I'll mention her to the N'aaru."

But his thought never came to fruition: he never made it to the N'aaru. He made it all the way to the lift to the Terrace of light, but as he got on, an Elf appeared behind him and got on with him.

The elf put his hand upon the head of the Paladin and before he could react, jumped into his mind. He commanded him to forget the idea of going to the N'aaru and placed the memory that he had met someone else on that lift, one who said he was already looking into the mystery surrounded the elf. And when the mind control was relinquished, Delanar agreed aloud, "I'm glad to see others have taken notice and care of her. A mystery to me that one is." and just like that, she pleasantly slipped from his mind.

* * *

Marivel finally awakened the next day. Disoriented, she sat up quietly and surveyed her surroundings. '_Looks like they fell for it_,' she thought when she realized where she was and remembered basically how she had come to be there.

She looked down. Her skin was well healed, though a few bruises remained. She passed her hand over them and they vanished.

"Oh!" she heard a startled voice and looked up, dropping her hand to her side quickly.

A Draenei woman stood alone in the doorway. Marivel didn't recognize her, but that wasn't too surprising.

"You're awake," she exclaimed. "I'm so glad, are you feeling better? Hungry?" She offered her a bowl of soup which Marivel graciously but silently accepted. After she had eaten some and watched this woman closely from under her lashes, she chose her course of action.

"I am feeling alright, I guess... I'm still a little dazed. Uhm, where am I?"

"Oh, you poor dear," the woman exclaimed in sympathy. "You are under my care on the Aldor Rise in Shattrath City." The woman looked doubtful, "I don't suppose you remember much of what happened to you?"

Marivel frowned in confusion. "Vaguely... Oh, Elune..." she gasped as horror and pain crossed her face.

The woman flitted over to her like a protective hen. "Oh, dear. Was it so horrible?"

Marivel looked up at her with wide, pained eyes and nodded. "It was..." she set the bowl of soup on the edge on the bed and hugged her knees up to her chest, resting her forehead on them.

"There, there," the priestess spoke as she patted Marivel on the back. "Try not to think about it for now. You just concentrate on getting better!"

Marivel looked up and nodded. The priestess took the bowl of soup up and offered it back to Marivel. She took it, finished the soup, and lay back down to rest.

Sometime later, perhaps and hour or two, she heard a guard come in, asking if he could question her. Like a trained Felhound, the woman told him that Marivel wasn't well enough to be questioned yet and shouldn't be bothered. He asked what her name was, but in the priestess's hassle to find out how her patient was doing and console her, she had forgotten to ask. When the irritated man pressed the issue, saying he really needed to question her, the priestess put her foot down and demanded that he not bother Marivel for a few more days so that she could continue the healing of her patient without adding to her trauma. The man said all he could allow was two more days. She had to speak to him by then.

Questioning shouldn't be much of an issue, Marivel decided. She already knew the basics of what she would say and the two days would give her time to solidify any holes in her story. She didn't need them catching on to little oddities, mainly the fact that the N'aaru wouldn't be able to reach into her mind thanks to the spell that the demon warlocks had cast upon her. She would have to get back to the Sunwell sometime in the next couple days to have the spell refreshed. A shame it was only a spell demons could learn or she could save herself the trouble and danger of returning and just cast it on herself.

She lay awake for a few hours, still acting the weak priest and pretending she needed more rest. Finally, when the sun had set and she began to smell dinners cooking from the lower city, some hundred feet below the rise, she yawned and stretched.

"Ah, good to see you're awake!" the woman said, turning from her reading, the dim lamp light emphasizing her plump face.

"Yes..."

"How are you feeling miss...?" she inflected her tone to ask Marivel's name.

"Marivel," she replied.

The woman smiled. "Marivel, lovely name. I am Sa'wyn, priestess of the light."

Marivel smiled weakly. "A pleasure. I'm feeling alright. A bit hungry. Weak," she added on.

Sa'wyn nodded. "Yes, that's to be expected. You were recovering very quickly, or so it seemed. Perhaps it's finally catching up with you." Marivel simply nodded. "I can get you some food if you'd like?"

Marivel thought for a moment. "Actually, would it be alright for me to go for a small walk around? I feel so stiff... I can get some food in the city."

Sa'wyn tilted her head thoughtfully. "I suppose you could, but don't over exert yourself. If you feel dizzy or nauseous, I want you to immediately inform a guard that you are not well and that they should send for me. Don't try to come back – we don't need you fainting on the way!"

Marivel smiled. "I'll be careful." She slowly and carefully got off the bed she had been sleeping on and started to walk out into the night. Just before she had left ear shot though, Sa'wyn called to her. "Yes?" she called back, turning half way.

"The warriors who... found you want to question you soon. Will you be alright with that?"

Marivel waited a few moments before answering. "I don't think I have a choice in the matter. Do I?"

Sa'wyn shrugged, something most races would have missed in the dark, but Marivel was still a Night Elf and still had excellent night vision. She wished her well and Marivel went on her way to the Lower City.

On her way she stopped at a bank and took out some money as well as a simple but alluring dress, a hair piece, and some shoes. She had been wearing her tattered robes when the Offensive had found her, the same robes she had been wearing in the Black Temple. Sa'wyn had dressed her in a simple linen dress and Marivel had no want to be wearing that out and about.

She stopped by the bath house and changed into a elbow length sleeved, midnight purple, empire waist dress that fell to her ankles. The fabric was akin to silk and gave the impression of falling water. Her shoes were a pair of silver heeled sandals. The clothes, though slightly enchanted, were more for looks than casting. A silver headband decorated with flowers and stars held her hair back from her face.

Gazing at herself in the mirror she decided she looked quite modestly beautiful, a good look for what she needed to be. With that, she took the clothes she had worn back to her bank box and headed for the tavern.

As she drew closer to the entrance and she began to pass people outside, she regretted putting her hair up. It was easier to hide under her hair and avoid the odd looks. She sighed, and ignored them.

When she entered, she immediately took note of everyone in the building. Several Blood Elves, several Humans, some Orcs, Dwarfs, and Trolls scattered here and there, and even a few Undead. She didn't see him, but there were two wings of tables slightly covered by curtains.

The air was thick with smoke and incense and it was warm with body heat. Everything sparkled and glittered with Blood Elf magic. The main floor that led to the main seating area and the two wings was lined with two bars, an Ogre behind one, and a Broken behind the other. There were sitting cushions scattered around a raised dais and a small stage like area. The dais made up the main sitting area and the majority were reclined here, drinking, eating, laughing, and of course dancing. There was a small collection of instruments being played in the back there, some by magic and some by people, and the music poured into the night. The wings contained tables and chairs and were much darker than the colorful main area, as well as quieter. The perfect place for discreet lovers, shady business, and depressed drunks to hide off in.

Marivel sat down at a cushioned stool at the bar and ordered some Sun Blush wine. When it had been served, she spun around on her stool, leaning back against the bar, and watched the dancing that had begun in the middle of the room while she sipped.

"What a fine choice for a Night Elf!" Said a voice to her right. She glanced, turning her head slightly. The jarring male voice continued before she had a chance to meet the figure with her eyes, "A rare sight to see one such as yourself drinking a delectable Sin'dorei flavor of- oh, but I see," his voice dropped lower and quieter as if someone had whispered some sour news in his ear. "Not quite a Night Elf, are you..."

Marivel met the electric green eyes of a Blood Elf man, clad in a very colorful and loud tunic, jacket, and slacks combo. A vendor of some sort.

"Nay, not a Night Elf," she spoke, soft enough for the music to drown, but easily traveling the few feet distance.

His eyes narrowed. "We have not met, certainly not. I do believe I would remember a rarity such as yourself, milady..." his drift on the word as he held his hand out for hers asked her for her name.

Marivel lowered her face a bit, intensifying her stare at him, and lightly set her hand upon his to be kissed. "Marivel."

"Hmm," he spoke in thought. "Alone tonight?"

She nodded and smiled charmingly, enough to hitch the breath of anyone sane. "I am. Alone as usual," she amended.

"Well! That simply will not do. I would give you my arm, and anything else you would have, but I am already claimed by a beautiful one," he glanced towards a Blood elf with a girlish face and rosy cheeks dancing on the dais, "but I think I know of one who wouldn't mind _your_ company."

"That's quite alright," she said, her smile fading as she turned back to the bar and away from him. Had he truly just insulted her so much to say that she needed him to find a particular one lenient enough to deal with _her_? She may be strange, repulsive to many, but this was a bit much.

"Hmm," he spoke again. "Suit yourself, but I think I'll tell him anyway."

Marivel didn't bother acknowledging that she heard him. She took a large gulp of the wine and, before finishing, ordered some stronger sweet mead along with some bread and cheese.

She listened to the music for awhile, her chin resting on her wrist as she pecked at her food. The elf who had slighted her had gone from her mind long before and her thoughts had turned to a pair of eyes that she wanted to see again as much as she never wanted to see again. But she had to. For the sake of her fulfilling her Prince's dream, she had to.

Her heart gave a pang at the thought of her Prince and her eyes went glossy with unshed tears. She rubbed her eyes as if they itched and ran her fingers through her hair.

Many of the songs she knew and hummed with as she finished her meal and drinks. Many were drinking ballads that, with the way the others sang and dance, actually made her smile a few times. She had waited well into the night, chatting with a few men brave, or perhaps desirous enough to come and talk to this exotic beauty. Politely, but not without flirtation, she refused each offer to "have a night together". There was only one she would be saying yes to, and she didn't think that was going to happen tonight. Three hours had passed. She knew she should be getting back before Sa'wyn sent out a search party – she surely didn't put it past her.

Marivel payed her tab and, with one last look around, with a slight narrowing of the eyes at the man who had insulted her, she walked out into the chilly night. She doubted she would find him on her first night out, but she had hoped sincerely luck would be with her. She already wasted three days! It would take a good amount of time for her to get into the Rogues head and life, if she even found him, and time was not on her side. How long until the Offensive knew their plans? What if they already did? How long until they figured out how to thwart them?

She silently cursed the rogue, making him the target of blame for all that was wrong in her life at that moment. How in the world could she find him? It was doubtful that anyone knew his name, and besides, who could she ask? He could be _anywhere_ in Outland _or _Azeroth at this very moment! She sighed dejectedly and headed back for the infirmary where she was staying, changing out of her clothes on the way.

* * *

"Alamaro," spoke a tall rogue clad in black leather that formed to his sculpted body like a second skin.

"Hmm, hello my friend. How are you on this momentous evening?"

Theridan eyed the Blood elf curiously. "Fine," he answered and leaned forward to rest his arms on the table at which he sat.

"Hmm..." his eyes drifted towards the bars, but the curtains blocked his view. "Yes, I don't suppose you are looking for some company?"

Theridan narrowed his eyes more strangely. "Your lovely dancers not so approving of you tonight?"

"Hmm?" Alamaro gave him a questioning look. "Oh! No, not me of course!" He let out his shrill laugh. "I meant a certain lady Elf who is alone at the bar this night," he looked back again, leaning to try to locate her unsuccessfully. He shrugged and looked back at his Rogue companion.

Theridan made no glance to where he was looking. "I'm sure you know I'm not one for company."

"No?" Alamaro shrugged animatedly again, and sat down across from Theridan, the oil lamps on the wall flickering across the two.

Theridan crossed his arms and leaned back, looking towards the dancers but not seeing them. "No."

Alamaro, strangely, did nothing but stare at him. "I think this particular _Night _Elf would be a different story."

Theridan's eyes shot a look at Alamaro and glowed a brighter icy white. "Night... Elf?" His voice was calm despite the sharp look.

Alamaro kept staring. "Purple hair, milky skin... _Un-dead_," He emphasized each syllable and was cut off when Theridan jumped up and pushed the curtain aside in one fluid motion.

After scanning the room once, Theridan turned back, his eyes scowling. "Is this some sort of a joke?"

Alamaro looked genuinely confused. "Joke...?"

Theridan stiffly sat back down, and leaned his chair back again. "Funny, ha-ha. Can't believe I fell for it."

Alamaro stood up and walked out to get a full view of the bar. Of course, her seat was empty. He took the three steps back at a dash. "She was there I tell you!"

"Hmm, was she now?" Theridan replied in a mock of Alamaro's voice.

"I swear it, she was there! I spoke with her myse-"

Theridan stood up abruptly, his chair clattering down. Without a word he walked out.

A month it had been, a month since he had seen that cursed Elf. And still, when he sat silently waiting for a target to come by, when his mind began to wander, when he lay awake at night awaiting sleep, he still found his thoughts coming back to her. Only just recently had it diminished to once a day or less. And now thanks to that bastard Alamaro... Well, hopefully it wouldn't take another month to get her from his mind. It wasn't safe for a rogue to have his mind on anything but his work.

His fists were balled up tightly as he made his way up towards the Terrace of Light and from there out into the forest. He didn't want to be around anyone any longer tonight.

A shimmer of light on hair caught his eye as he was a few steps from the bridge out of Shattrath. He glanced back automatically just in time to see Marivel disappear around the other side of the terrace.

He stood there, comically frozen in mid step. He tried to tell himself that he had just imagined it, that it was just another Night Elf, although his feet were already taking him in that direction.

He rounded the corner to, indeed, see the back of a purple haired Night Elf walking towards Aldor rise.

He sprinted. Had he taken a moment to think, he would've thought the hope that had filled his chest like a balloon would have been completely absurd. But he wasn't taking time to think. His was filled with only one thought: she was alive after having thought her dead for weeks.

Despite his speed, he wasn't fast enough. She had gotten on the lift and it was nearly at the top by the time he made it. He stood there, breathless from the surprise and tapping his foot impatiently. His hands shook from the adrenaline. It felt like an eternity before the lift came back down. It took much too long to lift off again too!

Finally, it began to ascend – slowly.

It reached the top. He stepped off and scanned the area quickly. He didn't see her. He started to run towards the temple when two large arms caught his on either side. His daggers were already halfway unsheathed when his vision met that of two Aldor guards.

"I don't recognize you," said the one, reaching for his sword. Theridan allowed his blades to drop back into their sheathes and allowed his hands drop to his sides.

"I think I do. You're a Scryer, aren't you?" the other spoke with disdain. Theridan just stared at him, wide eyed. This could not be happening. Not now.

"Ah," the other nodded and released him. "Please, return to where you came from. This part of the City is off limits."

Theridan's jaw dropped, though his mask covered the act. He couldn't believe what he was hearing.

He wanted to argue, wanted to fight, wanted to kill the two before him before either had a chance to make a noise... but that wouldn't be good for the peace, especially coming from him of all people. He had been _so_ close...

"It had to be her," he told himself as he walked out of the city and into the dark forest. "It had to be."


	18. There is a Time to Love

The mid-morning sun was shining warm and bright on Marivel's skin as she lay on her small bed in the infirmary, waiting. She had eaten a breakfast of hearty soup and bread and had feigned going back to sleep for Sa'wyn.

When the over protective caretaker had at last left her alone, she rolled onto her back and lay there. It was all she could do to sit still , but she had to make it seem that she was no one of note, just an unlucky woman, in the wrong place, at the wrong time. No normal woman would heal this fast, not after supposed weeks of torture.

So there she lay, awaiting the man who was going to be coming to question her today. She had told Sa'wyn at breakfast that she wanted to help the SSO in whatever way she could, and though she wasn't feeling well, she would talk to them.

Sa'wyn had praised her for her bravery and was proud of her eagerness to help.

At last Marivel's long ears heard the boot steps of a soldier coming near the infirmary. She rolled over soundlessly to face away from the door.

The Soldier walked in and nudged her, a bit harshly, awake.

She groaned in mock pain and lifted her head up to look at him. She sat up, every movement showing stiffness and perched on the edge of her bed while the man pulled up a chair and sat in it. He had a strong air of annoyance around him.

"So, Marivel, can you tell me how you came to be on the Isle of Quel'danas?"

She mentally noted his disrespect in that he didn't even introduce himself. "I can guess..." She spoke softly.

"Then Guess."

She closed her eyes a moment, looking like she was trying to gather her thoughts. "I joined a large group who was storming the Black Temple some time ago. I volunteered to support the main force as a healer. While going through the sewers, I spotted what I thought to be someone badly injured down one of the halls. I yelled to the others and pointed, but I guess no one heard in the commotion... No one came with me-"

"You wandered off alone?" He raised his voice harshly.

Marivel shrank back. "Yes... I didn't realize I was alone! All I knew was someone needed help!"

The man shook his head clearly showing on his face how stupid he thought she was. "Then what?"

"Well, I made my way to them, and tried to heal them, but they were already nearly dead. It looked like they had been tortured for months. They were conscious but their mind was... gone." She let a haunted look come over her. "I heard steps behind me, and as I turned I was struck in the face so that I fell to the ground. I was knocked out after that, I don't know how. The next thing I remember is being tied up, blind folded and gagged while being dragged through what smelled and sounded like gardens and then through various halls. I was put in some sort of room, my blind fold was never removed. And there they... they..." She let herself begin to cry.

The man clearly didn't care one bit how hurt or scared she was. He just starred and sighed impatiently.

When at last she gained enough control to speak, she continued, "They t-tortured me. It was awful. They kept demanding to know what _we_ knew, how much we knew about their plans. But I didn't know anything. They didn't believe me. They just kept going... Then one day they took me somewhere else. And they left me. There were others around, weeping and groaning. But we weren't tortured anymore. They just left us. No food or water... One by one the sounds stopped. That's the last I remember. Silence in that room."

She trembled.

"So... you don't remember anything else? No names? Nothing?"

She shook her head. "Just them saying that Kael'thas would win. That there is no way we can win against their plans. That they are too far in completion. They said if I told them everything we knew that they would grant me a quick death... But I didn't know anything! I couldn't-"

"Fine! You don't need to go on. You have nothing of use to tell me. You're the same as the others." And with that, he rose and left.

Marivel stared. She couldn't believe how easy it had been nor how rude and cruel that man had been. She shook her head and chuckled. She hoped she would get a chance to meet him in battle. She would give him a smile to die for.

* * *

That evening, she convinced Sa'wyn to again let her go walking. Sa'wyn reluctantly agreed but begged her to take it easy. Marivel smiled sweetly and promised she would. She then thanked Sa'wyn for being so kind to her and recounted her tale of how harsh the man who questioned her had been. Expertly Marivel sewed more sympathy in Sa'wyn, further erasing any questioning thoughts the woman would gossip to her friends. Now they would surely only hear of how brutal the soldiers were to a poor, confused, and kind girl; of how the spirits had dealt such a sweet woman such a bad hand.

Marivel reveled in the hot and steamy bath she took, but was careful to only indulge for a few minutes. She had to be off.

She dressed in a deep blue dress that was woven with silver threads in the patter of vines, flowers, leaves, and trees across all the fabric. The skirt was long, to her ankles, and had a slit all the way to her upper left thigh. When she walked, the skit flowed open easily and showed the majority her legs off. There was a sheer overskirt that covered the sides and back of her skirt and hung low to the floor, turning to a short train in the back. The top of the dress was tight and form fitting with a neckline that plunged deep, revealing a narrow, but long window of cleavage. The sleeves attached were sheer like the overskirt, and were essentially slashed from neck to wrist, tied together with silver ribbon at her neck, just below her shoulders, and at her elbows thus revealing her arms. Her hair was braided, silver ribbons entwined.

For the time she took on her look, she hoped sincerely it would not be wasted.

* * *

She sat in the same seat she had the last time she attended the tavern. She received more looks and offers than her other night, but it made no difference to her. He mood turned sour as soon as she spotted the elf, in another blaring outfit, flirting with a dancer.

When their eyes met, she glared at him. There could be no mistake in the look that he was not welcome in her company. To her surprise though, the moment he saw her, his body language changed as he bid his flirtation farewell and rushed off into one of the wings hidden by curtain.

A frown crossed her features. She didn't think she had given him that harsh of a look, but it was no matter. She turned her attention to a group of men and women to her left who were having a game of telling the most amusing adventure they had ever had.

She politely declined when they asked her to tell one, but she laughed genuinely at stories of incredible narrow escapes, new and stupid warriors making the most hilarious mistakes in their first days, and even curious travelers who found themselves in the clutches of death despite their escorts most sincere attempts to guide them.

The group of them had just finished tearful guffaws at a Warlock's story of his very disobedient pet, when a Human Mage chimed in. "If you think pet's and minions are nasty, wait until you hear about what can happen with a polymorph spell gone horribly wrong!" He opened his mouth, smiling widely. He was about to begin his tale when his smile abruptly vanished. "I suppose it will have to be a tale for another time." He looked to his friends around him and nodded towards the door. "We should get going," and then turned his eyes towards Marivel.

She frowned, surprised, but noticed as the others turned to look at the threat, they weren't staring at her. They were staring past her, behind her. As the whole group scattered quick as a blink, she turned on her seat to look.

Her eyes met black. Black skin forming leather with deep crimson inscriptions. She lifted her eyes to meet those of what must have been a well known rogue to make worn adventurers scatter so easily.

And Lightning hit her.

It was him.

And he looked awed and... happy- as happy as one can look when you can only see their eyes.

His eyes! His eyes were so beautiful! So deep, engaging, intelligent, entrancing. She could see nothing else around her but those eyes. She felt as if she were looking into bottomless pools of saphire surrounded by swirling emerald. There were promises in those eyes that she could be happy the rest of her life if she never looked away.

She hadn't been prepared for this. Not at all. It was exceedingly difficult to keep it in her mind that he was a target; all she wanted to do was touch him.

She hoped he was going to touch her when he lifted his hand, but instead it went to his face. He pulled off his hood.

Marivel felt herself gasp. Were she standing her legs surely would have collapsed under her. To call him the most handsome man in all the worlds would be an insult. The perfection of his features, the synergy of them, and the sheer attraction was so pleasureful to gaze upon that it practically hurt!

He had much sharper features than most blood elves. His jaw line was strong, pronounced. His lips were full but still masculine. His nose was average sized, but bold on his face and fitting perfectly on it. His brow ridge and forehead were strong, with a high hairline.

He was tall with long muscles. He had broad shoulders and the leather that was taught across his chest defined them well. He seemed almost too masculine to be a lithe rogue, but it suited him. He was a perfect balance between thin and graceful and bulky and stalwart.

She felt her hand trembling and clenched it into a fist. She wanted him to wrap his arms around her and never let go. Her loss of control was horrifying to the colder, calculating part of her mind. The effect he had on her was much stronger than it had been before.

"Hi," he breathed at last.

It was as if the spirits sang when he spoke! His voice seemed so much more than it had been the last time she heard it. It was perhaps the most beautiful thing she had ever heard, along with her mother's voice.

She smiled wider than she ever had since she had died. "Hello, Theridan," she said.

He closed his eyes and sighed in apparent pleasure when she spoke his name. She wanted to do it again. She wanted to see him like that again. "It is good to see you well, Marivel."

She understood his look of pleasure. She loved the way he said her name. It made her fingers and toes tingle. Her mind kept shouting at her to remember what she was here for, but it was getting more difficult to hear.

He gestured to the door, "Shall we go for a walk? I fear we are starting quite a commotion." Marivel turned, for the first time seeing there were other people in the huge tavern. For all she knew it could have been empty. She blushed as she met the faces of several people staring at them.

Nodding to him, he lead the way out into the night.

* * *

The air had cooled a considerable amount since she had gone into the tavern. The nip took some of the haze from her mind that Theridan had created. They walked in silence towards the forest. She quickly went through her thoughts, trying to determine what her next course of action was now that she had found him. To her dismay, she discovered that if she was looking at him she couldn't think at all.

When they reached the border of the city, they sat down on one of the few benches there near some flower beds.

"I..." Theridan started. He ran his hand through his short, spiky blonde hair. She wanted his hand in her hair like that; she wanted her hands in his hair. "I'm finding it difficult to gather my thoughts... You seem to..." he looked back at her. She found herself smiling at him automatically. He laughed softly, "You know what I'm feeling better than I can explain?" he questioned.

She nodded. Knowing that they both were confused, excited, happy, and that he understood her, a giggle escaped her throat. She blinked in surprise. Had she really just _giggled_?

Theridan started again, "I searched for you... Everywhere I could. What happened?"

She took a deep breath. This is where the difficulties began. She prepared herself to spin a lie and began to recount her tale of going to the Black Temple. About fighting, being captured. About her torture. His anger burned hot when she told him of how she had been violated. It filled her with such wonder that he would be so protective over her. No one had been like that for her in so long.

She told about being taken to the Sunwell. The words flowed so easily, and before she knew it, she realized she wasn't lying to him at all. She was even about to tell him how she had met and joined Kael'thas! She stopped abruptly.

He frowned instantly and asked, "What is it?"

"I..." She had to think fast, for the first time realizing that she didn't feel like she could lie to him!

Shaking her head, she turned away. "The torture they performed there was awful. Thankfully, I don't remember most of it... but it was... horrible." She hoped that telling him that much truth would satisfy him and that he wouldn't notice she didn't say she was subjected to the torture. Deceiving him that much made her feel nauseous.

He seemed to accept it, although she thought she saw a hint of disbelief. If she had, he quickly covered it.

"I'm sorry," he breathed at last. "If only I had made it to you sooner." Marivel gave him a questioning look. "I was with the first Horde wave that infiltrated the Black Temple. I searched for you but I had to stay with... with the others."

Marivel nodded. "You did your duty," she spoke, sincerely wanting to comfort him. She made a mental note that the first wave was the strongest fighters and thus usually the more important leaders. "Anyways," she started, hoping to get on the right track, "Perhaps I will be able to help fight again and get my revenge. I hear that the Horde and Alliance are joining forces, so to speak, and attempting to infiltrate the Isle?"

Theridan nodded. "There is still much work to do here, but yes, that is true." He thought for a moment, and then asked, "Are you serious about wanting to fight again?"

Marivel nodded again. "Yes," she said simply.

He eyed her a moment longer and then a smiled lit his features. "Alright then, Priestess. If you'd like, I could use someone of your considerable talents in the upcoming days, if you think you can keep up with me," he grinned dubiously.

Marivel raised an eyebrow and sat up straighter. "I'm up for anything," taking on his challenge.

Theridan chuckled, "Don't say I didn't warn you."

He stood up and offered her his hand. She eyed it for a moment of hesitation, and then took it. The warmth, even through his leather, made her skin tingle. It reminded her much of when she touched Kael'thas' bare hand.

She was disappointed when he let go of her hand and they started walking back into the city. She liked touching him. Her mind warned her it wasn't a good idea to do anything she liked with him. Whatever their connection was, it was clearly dangerous.

Theridan walked with her to the lift to Aldor Rise, and she briefly wondered how he knew where she was going. When they stood near the lift, both of them were reluctant to say good night, but with the late hour, staying together any later would politically be asking to not part ways until morning.

"If you don't decide to back out, I'll meet you at that same bench we sat at tonight tomorrow morning, two hours after the sun rises." He smiled at her to show that he was only joking and fully hoped she would be there. His smile was contagious.

Marivel found some foolish part of her mind wondering, and hoping, if he would kiss her good night. Of course, he didn't. He did bow though, and made a show of it. "Thank you for a wonderful night, my Lady." When he stood straight again his smile softened, "And I am truly relieved to have found you, finally... and that you didn't run away again!"

Marivel blushed, embarrassed, but smiled weakly and nodded. "Sorry about that..."

He nodded and started to walk away. He called back over his shoulder, "I hope someday you will tell me what I did to chase you off!"

Marivel bit her lip at the memory, and then smiled at the fluttering in her heart, and then frowned at the sinking feeling in her gut.

As she walked back to the infirmary she found the thought of betraying him sickening.

Sa'wyn seemed to have gone to bed for the night and Marivel decided it best to not wake her. She opened the door and gasped in shock.

* * *

Theridan was walking on air. She might as well have given him holy wings for how much she made him feel like he was floating. He didn't understand it. And though a large part of him worried about it, it gave him the most happiness he had felt in years.

He certainly didn't trust her. That was for certain. 20 years worth of rogues training had at least instilled that much. He chuckled at the absurdity that some woman he hardly knew could undo him so... yet somehow, it was pleasant. And from what he had seen, she wasn't just some woman; she was someone rare and incredible.

He had tried to put her from his mind and had been quite unsuccessful. He would do his best to keep his head around her, but if she really could bring this much pleasure and happiness to him, and he to her, perhaps... perhaps he could grow to trust her.

He headed for the portals inside the inner sanctum of the Terrace of Light. He had an important meeting to get to and if he didn't hurry, he was going to be late.

* * *

Marivel walked over to her bed and reclined on it with feigned indifference. "What is it?" she asked the Blood Elf who stood watching her.

"The Master wants a status report," he said in a hissing whisper. He was disguised as a merchant, but upon her entering her room he had pronounced himself as an ally to Kil'jaden.

Marivel nodded once. "I have found the target and have engaged him. It is a matter of time before..." Her look faltered. Again the idea of betraying him sickened her.

The Blood Elf crossed the room in two strides and pointing a finger into her face. "Do not forget who it is you serve! Do not forget who it is they killed!"

Marivel stared at his finger for a moment and then smirked. The moment the smirk touched her face she saw his finger snap backwards. He nearly screamed in pain; only the risk of being caught kept his mouth shut.

"And don't you forget who it is you threaten," she said. She then stood and opened the door, clearly informing him that he was to leave. Wisely, he did so.

After she was sure he was gone, she walked back to her bed and curled up into a ball on her side. She had sworn herself to Kael'thas' service and cause, but how could she go through with it? With how she felt for him and he felt for her...

Suddenly, the words were back in her mind. 'Have they ever honestly considered us true allies and not a simple convenience? The Horde may have accepted some of us, but they care little for us. They are only interested in what they will gain. They care not for the well being of the Sin'dorei, nor you.' Wasn't he the same? Wasn't Theridan only interested in what he would gain from her? He said it himself, he wanted a priest of her talents. No, she tried to convince herself, he was Horde. True Horde. True Undead. Not a Mongrel like her. He would only use her.

She would do it. Some how, she would complete her task, no matter how hard it was. And he would be the one to be used, not her.

* * *

Marivel did not see Theridan as she neared their meeting place, but she sensed him. He was easier to sense than anyone else, something about their connection.

She stopped at the bench, but still didn't see him. She frowned as she looked about. He was good, she noted. Very good.

Theridan had much the same thought when he appeared behind her and was about to startle her when she said, "Hello again," and turned to smile at him.

Her smile widened at his surprised look. "If I didn't know you'd be waiting for me and we didn't have this... connection, I doubt I would have felt you behind me."

He raised an eye brow in thought but then shrugged. "I suppose I can take that as a compliment."

She smiled again and nodded, "You should."

She could see his eyes smile behind his mask as he looked down at her. He made her feel so short! The top of her head barely came to the bottom of his chin. And for some reason, feeling short felt good.

Strengthening her resolve against the joys he was already making her feel, she reminded herself that he was only using her.

"Are you ready?"

She cocked her head. "For?"

He leaned in, "For an Adventure!"

This time she raised an eyebrow. "Sure," she said, drawing the word out.

"Good! 'Cause we've got work to do. Where's that dragon of yours?"

Her face went cold and sad at the thought a Athestrasz. "Well," he started, "you can share mine then." He drew a skinny plain wooden whistle from a small pocket on his hip and blew into it. It was silent. A moment later a black Nether Drake crashed through the trees. "This is Saigo," he stroked the drakes neck and then mounted up. He then held out his hand to her.

She didn't like the idea of riding with him. Not one bit. But it didn't look like he was going to give her a choice. She took his hand, and mounted up behind him.

As the drake took to the air swiftly, she had no choice but to shift close enough to Theridan that she felt every move of his body as he absorbed the movements of his drake in flight.

She had been right. It was a very bad idea. Her legs on either side of the drake, her body up against his back, and essentially between her legs, her arms around his waist, she couldn't help or ignore the desire that spilled into her as they flew. After 10 minutes of flying all she could think of was how much she wanted him. She had never felt it like this before.

Sure, she'd seen attractive men, and she'd found some pleasure in certain jobs she had taken that had required her to seduce different men, but this was on a different level all together.

She kept saying it over and over in her head, becoming a mantra, 'He's only trying to use you.' Part of her mind replied that she might not mind him _using_ her.

"Marivel? Did you hear me?"

"What?" She asked. She certainly hadn't heard anything he said.

He shifted a bit, making it even harder to pay attention to any words and causing her to bite her lip. "We're on our way to the Throne of Kil'Jaeden." The name chocked her right out of her haze.

"Why?" She snapped a bit quickly.

He looked back at her oddly. "We've discovered that there is a massing of demons there and that they have opened a gateway to the Isle. It's our job to get up there and shut down that gateway and choke of the reinforcements."

She nodded.

"You up for it?" He asked, sounding a bit worried.

"Of course!" She said.

He grinned, though she couldn't see it. He suspected he was going to have some fun this day.

* * *

They landed somewhere up in the mountains, high over the wasteland of Hellfire Peninsula. They crept up to the top of a hill and lay flat so as not to be seen and surveyed the area.

"There," Theridan said, pointing. Marivel followed his finger, absently noting how beautifully long and slender they were. She saw the the gateway. She also saw how the plateau was swarming with demons.

Without another word they both started skirting around the plateau, staying out of sight behind the outcroppings of rock.

Theridan was in the lead, Marivel waiting a few steps behind so they wouldn't both be spotted when moving across the gaps of rock if a demon happened to look their way.

When they had gotten as close as they could to the gateway, they paused. Looking at each other, they both nodded at once and Marivel charged out from behind the rock.

She threw her hands up in front of her and sent a column of holy fire spiraling towards a cluster of Eredar warlocks. They threw up protective shields, but her fire ate through them like they were paper. Their death cries alerted all the other demons in the immediate area.

As they neared her, she sent out plagues of shadow that would rot the skin from their bones in minutes. To an Eredar warrior who was charging her, she threw out her right hand and spoke a word of Death and met her mark. With her left hand she called out another word of Death to another warrior charging her. As it fell, two more behind it charged. She shielded herself and then turned to Smite her enemies.

As she mixed a storm of Holy and Shadow, she would catch flashes of black leather and a glint off a blade, and see a nearby demon fall.

Despite that he only had two weapons and her magic could hit many more, he felled as many as she did. She was in awe of his efficiency and talent. He was like a master work of art.

As more and more Demons started to finally get near enough to attack her shield directly, she could no longer watch for Theridan and had to pay attention to what she was fighting. Her magic, if she truly released it, could kill most of the demons left, but she needed to keep the extent of her power a mystery from her new comrade. Despite that she could though, she was still vulnerable to any of the blades slicing at her shield.

As she cast a renewing spell on her shield, she glanced towards Theridan. He had dispatched the demons around the portal, and the rest were concentrating on Marivel. She nodded to him and he rushed at the portal. He took no time in aiming his daggers at the weakest points and most vulnerable relays. It was soon sparking flames and smoking. As one, the demons all turned to him as if a mental voice had called all of them to their new target. The left Marivel and rushed Theridan.

Marivel knew that Theridan sensed them all coming for him, but he was nearly to the power core of the portal. A good blast there and the whole thing would erupt in a great explosion.

"Theridan, get out of there!," She yelled as she ran towards him. When Theridan didn't run, Marivel felt a cold wave of fear freeze her. Why wasn't he running? There was no reason not to. Together, they would be able to kill the rest of the Demons easily.

"Marivel, Stop!" She looked at him confused as she stopped running to him. "Get out of here! Run!" His eyes pointed towards the ridge behind her.

She turned.

Over the hill a swarm of demons was coming. It was probably fifty times the amount they had been fighting. Even she couldn't fight off that amount; there was no way. Theridan, she realized turning back to look at him, was going to risk sacrificing his life to destroy that portal, hoping that he could use a Rogues magic to vanish before their eyes and get away.

She ran.

She ran towards him. She surrounded him with a spined holy shield and ran into the fray of demons, killing with incredible speed. She reached deep within herself and created a flaming barrier around the two of them.

He shook his head at her but said nothing, just kept wedging away at the encasing on the core. Marivel took out a spell dagger she had at her side and did that same.

"1, 2, 3!" He said, and they both pried with all their might. It wrenched open just a bit.

Theridan reached into a cargo pocket on the side of his thigh and took out a small vial. Marivel recognized the contents as what Mages called a Living Flare. Without looking up at her he said, "Are you ready to run?"

"Are you?" She asked and smiled.

He grinned, still staring at the glowing power core inside. He unstoppered the vial and allowed the flare to flow into the power core encasement. Then he grabbed her and held her against him.

She looked up, confused as he told her, "Drop the shield!"

She frowned deeper at him. "Do it!" He shouted over the noise of the demons as he looked towards the gateway. She nodded and closed her eyes.

The shield broke. The Demons swarmed in. And in a blink, the two disappeared in a swirling of shadow.

Marivel felt like she was being squeezed from all sides. Instinctively she held on tighter to Theridan, and she felt his arms close around her in response.

Then the sensation was gone. As she opened her eyes Theridan was already dragging her away and running. They had appeared behind the swarm of demons that was now rushing forward to the portal, where their prey had been.

But the reinforcement demons saw them and changed course. Marivel and Theridan ran for their lives.

Theridan groped for his whistle. Finding it, he pulled down his mask to sound it. The moment his lips touched it, the Living Flare took to the Core. The gateway exploded. Every Demon within a 30 yard radius was incinerated. The shock wave sent Marivel and Theridan to the ground. The whistle fell from his hand and back down the hill they were running up. He cursed his clumsiness and scrambled up to his feet and continued running with Marivel. By the time they were on their feet and running again, the demons behind them had trampled the whistle underfoot.

They ran for a few more minutes, picking the easiest hills and crevices. Upon cresting one hill, the rock underfoot suddenly gave way. They slid down an extremely steep embankment and came to a hard halt some ten feet down on a cliff point; Hellfire Peninsula lay out before them some thousands of feet below. Marivel looked up, there was no way to climb up and the Demons were right on their tails.

She looked back down. "Trust me?"

Theridan looked at her. "Sure, why not?

She grabbed his hand and jumped, pulling him with her.

* * *

"You _really_ gave me a fright on that one," Theridan scolded her.

As the two had fallen swiftly through the air, Marivel had reached for his other hand. She had had to yell his name to get him to realize what she wanted. As they fell, both hands clasped, she looked up at him. He was honestly afraid. The pain of seeing him that afraid hurt her. She had closed her eyes and began to concentrate, chanting. At first the change was imperceptible, but steadily their fall began to slow. Slower and slower, until her hair and dress were no longer streaming upwards and the ground was coming up to meet them at a lazy rate.

She had opened her eyes to see his looking down into hers, smiling.

"Well, you said you trusted me," she shrugged.

"So I did," he replied. The truth was that he had doubted her. And when she had pulled him off the cliff without slowing his fall first, he truly worried that he had misjudged her and would meet an untimely end.

Despite his words, Marivel knew he hadn't trusted her. It was evident in his fearful eyes as they fell. She had expected him not to. She expected him to only use her. Thats what she kept telling herself after all... So why did it hurt so much to have him doubt her?

"Anyway, could you speed this up?" He asked. At the rate they were floating, it might take a good ten minutes to reach the ground.

Marivel frowned and turned away. "Is my company so unpleasant?" she asked before she could stop herself.

His hand pressed upon her cheek, turning her back to look up into his face. "No, little one." She could smell his breath through his mask, and she found it remarkably sweet smelling. "It's quite the opposite." His voice was soft, with a sultry quality.

Marivel found she had forgotten how to breathe. And then found herself ever so slightly pushing up against her own magic, pushing closer to him, to his face.

"Its... just that..." He breathed, stroking a thumb across her cheek.

"Yes...?" she asked, the control her mind had over her rapidly failing.

"Just that... I really have to visit a bathroom."

She gaped at him.

A childish grin spread to his eyes as Marivel's wistful look became that of loathing.

"You'll just have to hold it," she said darkly, removed his hand from her cheek and turned away, folding her arms.

* * *

When they at last landed, she immediately started walking towards Thrallmar. They were still a ways off but if she walked fast they would be there in fifteen minutes or so.

She had taken two steps when he caught her hand. "Let go," she said, trying to shake herself out of his gasp.

"Stop," he said sternly.

"Let go!" she shook harder.

"Stop!" he exclaimed and pulled her hard, causing her to stumble. He caught her by her shoulders before she fell into him. She looked away refusing to meet his eyes. "Marivel, I was making a silly joke, why are you so sour?"

She opened her mouth to say something, and then closed it. When she didn't speak for another minute he went on, "There is something between us. I don't know what it is, and I don't think you do either. But its... strong. And I have a very hard time not..." His voice trailed off. He amended, "I have a hard time fighting it. I was simply trying to make light of a tense situation, before I did something I shouldn't. If you can say something to lighten a situation so strung with emotion, shouldn't you?"

She thought about it a moment. He was right. He had done what she couldnt. Shrugging, she said, "Sometimes, maybe."

And then his hand was on her cheek again, and he was tilting her face up to meet his gaze. "Don't take it like that. Don't get angry over a light hearted comment. Take it with that lovely, radiant smile of yours." The last sentence was breathy. Her cheeks flushed slightly at his compliment.

He was too close. His breath smelled too good. She couldn't think- agian! She couldn't make her hands stop as they reached up and rested on his waist. She felt his breath quicken against her skin when she touched him. He felt hers quicken in response.

Her mind was scrambling for a foot hold, to try and remind her that he was only using her, that she shouldn't be doing this, shouldn't be pulling closer, shouldn't be reaching up to kiss him as he leaned down to kiss her. But she was. And he was. It was like Gravity between them.

And then his left hand was flying up, dagger already in it. His right hand was pulling her closer into him and away from where she stood as his body spun.

There was a sharp ringing as an arrow made contact with his blade where her back had been not a second before. And seemingly by magic, there was a throwing knife in his hand along with his dagger. He released it with deadly precision and Marivel heard it make contact with flesh. She turned finally to see a Fel Orc Archer falling to the ground, the knife protruding from his throat. "I'll take a rain check," he said to her with a smile, reluctantly releasing her from his arm and pulling out his other dagger.

Marivel steadied her reeling and turned to the threat at hand. She readied powerful spells of Holy Fire and Shadow Frost in her palms as a scouting party of Fel Orcs charged towards their doom. She smiled up at Theridan as they charged into another battle.


End file.
